


The One That Got Away

by PunsBulletsAndPointyThings



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (it started as PWP and then it GREW), (now there is plot), GFY, Happy Ending, M/M, Porn With Plot, Pre-AOTC Obi-Wan, Time Travel, pre-TPM Qui-Gon, the Force is like tinnitus - buzzing loud and won't go away, unbetaed, unexplained time travel Force shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9496871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings/pseuds/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings
Summary: Qui-Gon really hadn't expected much when he agreed to go out for a drink with Micah and Tahl a few months after his Knighting. Really.But the Force had other ideas.





	1. First Glance

**Author's Note:**

> So I asked for short fic prompts and an anon asked for time travel ObiQui. It got away from me...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song - Alive by Krewella

Qui-Gon felt the eyes on him before he knew who they belonged to. He tensed, and shifted, turning just enough to look around the crowded cantina without making his actions obvious to all and sundry. Beside him, he felt Tahl shift too, reacting to him, Micah quickly following.

_Qui-Gon?_ Micah asked, audible over their pair-bond in a way they stood now chance of having with spoken conversation. Qui-Gon shook his head, the tiniest of twitches, and felt his friends relax on either side of him.

_No, nothing malicious, I don’t think. Just…sad?_

Curious now, more than anything, Qui-Gon plucked his drink from the bar and turned in his seat to survey the room at large, carefully searching for the source of the eyes and the echoing sadness and…longing, that he still felt aimed at himself.

There, over by the door. Sipping his drink, Qui-Gon let the almost too sweet flavors wash over his tongue as he tipped his head in a slow, languid motion that gave him a better view of the cantina’s entrance. Like the rest of the establishment, the entryway was crowded, and Qui-Gon let his gaze slide lazily over the crowds, allowing the Force to nudge and guide him until he found a pair of blue-green eyes that stared back at him. When their gazes met, Qui-Gon jumped, feeling something in the back of his mind _click_ and settle into place. At the same moment, the stranger’s eyes grew wide with shock, and he turned on his heels, shoving his way through the crowds surging in.

Inexplicable panic surged in Qui-Gon’s veins, and before he had quite thought through what he was doing, he had slammed a handful of credits down on the bar and was weaving his way through the crowd of dancers and drunks, following the stranger and ignoring Tahl’s shouts after him. It was crazy, he knew, but the Force was thrumming in his ears and he knew in his bones that he could not let the man just disappear.

Qui-Gon caught up to the stranger a few block away, far enough from the main street that the pounding music and incessant chatter had faded to a dull hum at the back of his mind. The stranger was just ahead, wrapping himself tight in a cloak almost identical to the start issue Jedi cloak Qui-Gon had seen a million times before, even as he knew this man was no Jedi he had seen before.

“Wait!” Qui-Gon called, his longer legs and greater stride giving him the advantage as he put in a burst of speed and closed the remaining space between himself and the man, catching his shoulder with one hand. “Please, wait!”

The man tensed under his touch, and for a moment Qui-Gon thought he had made a mistake, that there would be a fight, but then the stranger sighed, long and low, and Qui-Gon felt him relax.

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon began, suddenly realizing just how this must look. Here he was, a Jedi Knight, chasing after a random man he had seen in a cantina, and hadn’t even said a word to! “I’m sorry, I just―”

His words died as the man shrugged off his hand and turned around, lowering his hood and giving Qui-Gon his first proper look at his face. He looked to be about Qui-Gon age, maybe older, but no more than thirty. Maybe twenty seven? Twenty eight? But there were shadows under his eyes, eyes that shifted and changed like the sea on Mon Cala, and they made him look older. More tired. His hair was beautiful, copper-gold, like metal and flame all twisted together, his beard short and neatly trimmed. He was beautiful, and it took Qui-Gon’s breath away like a blow to the stomach.

“I…” he said again, lamely, and felt his cheeks heat with a blush as a tiny smile curled the man’s lips. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m sorry for running after you but I…well…may I know your name.”

Internally, he cursed. He must sound like a creep! But to his surprise, the man’s smile widened, if only just, and he said, in a quiet, gently accented voice; “No need to apologize. My name is…Ben. Ben Lars.”

Qui-Gon smiled, and ignored the obvious falsehood. He still sensed no ill will from this man, from Ben, and he was not quite so drunk as to have utterly lost his sense just yet. “Ben. I’m Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Knight.”

The man’s smile softened and grew. “It is good to meet you, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Please, just Qui-Gon.”

He was quickly become entrance by the way Ben’s eyes sparkled when he smiled. “Of course, Qui-Gon.”

They stood in silence for a long moment after that, until Ben shifted and cleared his throat. “Well, I should―”

“Wait!” The word burst from Qui-Gon so suddenly that it surprised even him. He blushed again, and licked his lips, an old nervous habit rearing its head. Ben blinked, startled, but waited, watching Qui-Gon with an easy curiosity. Qui-Gon shifted, suddenly nervous.

“Would you…that is…might I buy you a drink, Ben? Perhaps somewhere a little quieter than before?”

Ben stared at Qui-Gon for a long moment, and then nodded, carefully. “I think I would like that, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon could not help the grin that spread across his face, and he offered Ben his arm.

 

* * *

             

As they walked, Qui-Gon reached out to Tahl and Micah, soothing their concerns and promising he would not do anything too stupid.

_I’ll be back before dawn, I promise._

When she replied, Tahl’s mental voice was a little distant. _No, I don’t think you will._

Qui-Gon felt Micah’s confusion mimic his own. _Tahl?_

_Just…be careful Qui._

_I always am._ He promised, more serious that he had been a moment earlier, and let the three-way link fade.

Qui-Gon had honestly meant to just buy Ben a drink. Really. But when they stopped at a street corner, and Ben had looked up at him, it had been so easy, felt so right, to just lean down and press his lips to Ben’s.

The shorter man made a small, heart-wrenching noise, but before Qui-Gon could pull away, Ben had his hands in Qui-Gon’s loose hair, holding him close as he kissed back with something almost like desperation. Qui-Gon groaned, and pressed Ben back against the wall behind them, where they were hidden by the shadow of an overhang, and then poured everything he was into the kiss, suddenly desperate, like there was a hole in his chest that only Ben could fill.

“I…I have rooms,” Qui-Gon gasped, when they finally broke apart, pressed together as close as they could. “At the Temple.”

Ben’s face was flushed, his lips swollen and his pupils blown wide as he shook his head. “No,” he whispered, voice already ragged, and small gods, but Qui-Gon wanted to hear more. To feel more, to taste more, with a strength and desire that was utterly foreign to him, and a little frightening. “Not there. Please, I― Just, anywhere but there.”

Qui-Gon nodded shakily, pressing his forehead to Ben’s for a moment as he struggled to gain his center. Then he straightened, and held out his hand. “I saw a hotel, not too far from here.”

Ben’s smile could have lit an entire system, and it sent sparks of heat dancing through Qui-Gon, as Ben took his hand, and they all but ran down the street.

 

* * *

 

It was not the nicest hotel Qui-Gon had ever seen, but that hardly mattered, not when Ben was kissing him again before the door had even closed, and Qui-Gon was using a careless flick of the Force to through the lock, pulling away only so long as it took to squirm out of his tunics, which joined Ben’s in a heap on the floor. Ben yelled and laughed when Qui-Gon grabbed him by the waist, hoisting him into the air and then tossing him back onto the blessedly large bed. Qui-Gon found himself laughing too, when Ben reached up and caught hold of his hair, pulling Qui-Gon down on top of him, kissing him like it was his only goal in this life.

They stayed like that for a time, content in their closeness, and the press of warm skin against skin; Qui-Gon occasionally straying to kiss and nip at the pale stretch of Ben’s throat and collar bones, making the other man laugh and squirm at the brush of his beard against sensitive skin. Eventually, Ben’s patience gave out, and he pressed his hips up against Qui-Gon’s, grinding against him and making Qui-Gon gasp. Ben laughed, low like a purr, and rutted up against Qui-Gon again as his lips found the soft skin below Qui-Gon’s ear and he murmured, “As fun as this is, Qui, could we perhaps pick up the pace?”

There was a challenge threaded through the too-steady words, and one that Qui-Gon was more than willing to meet. He growled, and slid down the bed to quickly rid Ben of his trousers and underwear, Qui-Gon’s own remaining clothes swiftly following suit. Free of fabric, he began pressing kisses up Ben’s inner calf and thigh, making the man squirm and let out all sorts of lovely little noises. Just before he reached Ben’s groin, Qui-Gon stopped and switched legs. Above him, Ben tossed back his head with a long-suffering groan.

“This is not what I meant when I said hurry up,” Ben panted, eyes squeezed tightly closed. Qui-Gon smirked against his hip, taking a moment to watch the other man stretch and twist against the sheets, looking for something, anything, to take the edge off. Then he moved, ducking his head and taking Ben into his mouth.

Ben shrieked, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, arching up off the mattress and curling in until he was nearly wrapped around Qui-Gon, his knees pressing tight against the side of Qui-Gon’s head, before he went slack, dropping back down. Qui-Gon pulled off, and grinned up at him. “Sensitive, are we?”

Ben scowled, but there was little heat behind it. “I didn’t say stop, did I?”

Qui-Gon laughed, swept his hair out of his face, and went back to work. By the time his jaw began to protesting, Ben was a writhing, keening mess above him, and Qui-Gon was so hard it hurt.

“Qui!” Ben cried, a plea and a gasp as he tangled his fingers in Qui-Gon’s hair, just tight enough to hurt and make Qui-Gon groan around Ben’s cock. Ben jerked and came with a shout, body tensing and arching up.

When he slumped back to the bed, loose-limbed and breathing hard, Qui-Gon swallowed and pulled away with an obscene noise that made Ben shudder. Grinning, Qui-Gon licked his lips, feeling Ben’s eyes on him, and crawled back up to let Ben pull him in for a kiss.

“Good?” Qui-Gon murmured.

Ben nodded, a lazy, satisfied smile on his lips. “Wonderful. Fuck, your _mouth_.”

Qui-Gon couldn’t help the shiver at the praise, his hips jerking on their own accord, and Ben’s eyes flashed with something that in any other situation might be very dangerous.

“I suppose I ought to return the favor, hm?” he purred, one hand sliding down between them, wrapping nimble, calloused fingers around Qui-Gon cock, squeezing just hard enough to make Qui-Gon gasp, and thrust up into his hand.

Ben laughed, and climbed on to of Qui-Gon, kissing him lazily while starting up a antagonizing slowly rhythm with his hand.

“I’d ask you to fuck me,” he breathed between kisses, lips still brushing against Qui-Gon’s. “But unless you are in the habit of carrying lube…”

Qui-Gon groaned, and closed his eyes. “Not this time,” he admitted. “W-wasn’t, fuck! Wasn’t planning on doing more than drinking.” He opened his eyes and managed a smirk. “Next time.”

For a moment, Ben’s expression shifted, something lost and achingly sad shining in his eyes, but then it was gone, and Qui-Gon’s attention was fully occupied by the hand on his cock speeding up as Ben whispered, “Of course. Next time. But in this moment, Master Jedi,” another squeeze, and a light scratch of nails that had Qui-Gon’s eyes flying open with a choked curse, “I would like to see you come apart for me.”

Qui-Gon moaned, and came hard when Ben dragged his thumb over the head of his cock, shouting something that was almost Ben’s name.

 

* * *

 

They lay in silence for a while after, curled around one another and enjoying the quiet of the afterglow. It was soothing, Qui-Gon thought, Ben’s head on his chest, his steady breathing matching Qui-Gon’s own. Finally, Ben spoke, stroking his knuckles over Qui-Gon’s cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I think I needed that.”

Qui-Gon grinned, and stretched up to kiss Ben’s nose. “My pleasure, I assure you.”

Ben laughed, a soft huff of air against Qui-Gon’s skin, and snuggled closer. Qui-Gon yawned, draping an arm loosely over Ben’s waist, his eyes growing heavy. He felt Ben press a kiss to his collar bone, and then sleep overtook him.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon was alone when he woke. Frowning, he sat up, stretching as he looked around. The room was empty, no noise coming from the ‘fresher, and a touch to the Force confirmed it. He was alone.

Qui-Gon was not sure how long he sat on the bed, processing and sorting through the thoughts swirling around his head, until he could finally find something that resembled peace. He sighed and rubbed his face, moving to stand up, when he heard the rustle of flimsi. He found it under his hand, half crumpled where he’d pressed it into the pillow. Hoping for an explanation, he smoothed it out.

It read:

              **I’m sorry.**

Under that, in smaller, messier writing, like Ben had been in a hurry:

              **Thank you.**

And then two sets of initials. The first, **BL** , had been crossed out, and replaced with **OWK**.

Qui-Gon stared at the note, until he felt a gently touch to the pair bond.

_Qui? Are you alright?_

Qui-Gon sighed, and replaced the note on the pillow. He needed a shower.

_I’m fine, Tahl._

_It’s okay if you’re not._

_I know._

_Qui-Gon_ _―_

_I’m fine, Tahl._

He could feel her hesitating, and then a mental sigh.

_Alright._

_I’ll be home soon._ He promised, and this time, he meant it.


	2. Second Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon tried not to hope.
> 
> It didn't work to well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, this was meant to be a oneshot smutlet, but then it went and, to quote the lovely ScarletJedi, "Grew great big plotty legs" and ran away with me. So now there is actual plot in the works. Hope you enjoy!

If his life were some sort of romantic holo-drama, a voiceless narrator would say that Qui-Gon’s life lost colour after that night, the disembodied words overlaid on a montage of scenes of abject misery. But it wasn’t, and there wasn’t.

What had actually happened was that Tahl and Micah had been waiting in his quarters when Qui-Gon had returned to the Temple, wrapped tight in his cloak and trying not to look like he was preforming a walk of shame with a broken heart. Because he wasn’t, really!

(He wondered just how long he would have to tell himself that for it to start to feel true. For the love of the Force, he barely knew the man, this was ridiculous!)

Qui-Gon had shooed away the concern and questions of his friends, playing the part of his usual, carefree self well enough to convince them to leave him be, placating them both with promises to spar and eat with them later in the day. Neither had seemed fully convinced but they had agreed and then Qui-Gon had been left alone in his apartments, with his thoughts.

For a long moment, he just stood there, leaning against the closed door, eyes closed, breathing; searching for his center in the Force. The Force responded to his call, wrapping him in familiar warmth and comfort, and he slumped into it, letting it bolster him against the ache in his own heart. In the back of his mind, a tiny voice that had always sounded like Master Dooku chided him, and he was tempted to agree with it. He was being ridiculous, weak, letting a stranger so deep into his heart, when all he knew about him was a false name.

‘ _And_ ,’ whispered another, traitorous part of his mind, ‘ _What he looks like naked. The sound of his laugh, the taste of his mouth. The way he looks when he comes, fingers in your hair and_ _―_ ’

Qui-Gon growled, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts before they could grow any further, and pulled away from the door, hitting the lock as he went. He needed a shower. Another shower. Needed to rid himself of the scent of hotel shampoo and laundry detergent and the lingering scent of Ben that clung to his skin like a curse. Needed to forget.

Stalking through his bedroom to the attached ‘fresher, he stripped like his clothes were burning him. His boots were abandoned haphazardly by the door, and the rest fell where he stood, pools of linen and coarse silk around his ankles. For a moment Qui-Gon just stood there, chest heaving, staring at his reflection in the larger mirror.

His hair was a messy, pulled away from his face in a haphazard braid. His skin was tanned from his last mission, the lines of his body strong and familiar. A hickey, not much larger than the pad of his thumb, stood out starkly under his right collar bone, drawing his eyes and holding them. Distantly, he watched his reflection raise a hand to gently touch the mark, and sighed. He hadn’t even noticed Ben leave it, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop noticing it now. Not until it faded.

Another sigh, rough and frustrated, burst from his lips, and Qui-Gon turned away from the mirror, pushing away the half trance that had fallen over him. Shower. He was supposed to be taking a shower and _moving on_.

The steady pressure of the water was soothing, and by the time he emerged, Qui-Gon felt steadier. Not centered, not fully, but something closer than before. Padding back into his bedroom, Qui-Gon paused to scoop his clothes up from the floor, and was making to toss them down the laundry chute when the sound of crinkling flimsy made him pause. It took a few moments of searching, and then he pulled the note out of the pocket of his robe.

His first instinct was to throw it away. To tear it up and pretend he had never seen it. But at the same time, Qui-Gon couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. It was something real, something tangible that, unlike the mark on his chest that he could feel, even now, like a brand on his skin, would not fade with time. A reminder that it hadn’t been a dream. That _Ben_ hadn’t been a dream.

He put it away, in a box in his closet, with the shattered remains of his first lightsaber crystals, a flatpic of himself, Micah, and Tahl, and the tiny statue that had been his first birthday gift from Master Dooku, and resolved to forget about it.

 

* * *

 

The hickey faded with time, just as Qui-Gon knew it would, and with it so faded the sharp ache in his chest. The life of Jedi was a busy one, with little time for lingering grief or longing, and soon Qui-Gon found his attention solidly held elsewhere, with mission after mission, and then, much to the surprise of many around him, a Padawan.

Feemor Strahl, a blond human boy from the same region of space as Qui-Gon himself. His former Master had been an acquaintance of Dooku’s and so Qui-Gon had recognized her name when news of her death reached the Temple gossips. Two days later, he met the 18 year old Padawan, and his heart had gone out to the boy. Somehow, in the time it took to walk up to him, the words Qui-Gon had been preparing to say had shifted, from condolences to a tentative offer to complete Feemor’s training.

Feemor had stared, then given Qui-Gon a small smile and nodded. “If the Council allows it, I would be honoured, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon had never planned on taking a Padawan, a bare four years after his own Knighting, but the Council had agreed, and the Force had sung around them, and Qui-Gon soon found teaching a joy he had never expected.

Then, in that tricky way it has, Time turned fluid, slipping past like a breeze; noticeable on your face and in your hair, but quickly forgotten even as it passed you by. Before he realized it, Qui-Gon stood before the Council with Feemor and had to bite back his smile as the Council pronounced his shining charge a Knight of the Jedi Order.

Feemor’s eyes were bright with joy when he turned to Qui-Gon and offered him his braid, and Qui-Gon could not find the words to protest; he had hardly done anything to deserve the token, but he could not refuse, not when he was so, so proud of the young man who stood before him. So he accepted the braid and bowed low to the new Knight, and then drew him into a tight embrace.

 

* * *

 

It was a generally accepted tradition that a Master ignored the goings-on of their former student and their friends, on the night of a Knighting (within reason, of course). Qui-Gon had no plans to be the exception to this.

He could, Qui-Gon knew, search out Micah and Tahl, or even Mace or Adi, all of whom were currently on Coruscant, but as he released Feemor into the joyful embrace of his friends, Qui-Gon found that solitude held more appeal. With that thought in mind, he slipped away from the sounds of celebration, tucking Feemor’s braid into his pocket, and made his way out to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and the one, particular, out of the way corner he had always favored.

Night had already begun to fall by the time he reached the small, semi-enclosed clearing, hidden from passing and prying eyes by the large, twisting roots of tree who’s name and origin were lost to Qui-Gon. Settling down in the grass, Qui-Gon leaned back against the truck and stared up past the spilling leaves and branches to the artificial sky and sunset that painted the gardens with soft light, free of air pollution or traffic.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there, when the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. Frowning, Qui-Gon sat up, peering over the largest root to see who the unfamiliar presence belonged to. His breath caught in a gasp, and the name pushed its way past his lips before he could stop it.

“Ben?!”

It could not have been louder than harsh whisper, but the man’s head snapped up, eyes growing huge when they met with Qui-Gon’s.

“Qui-Gon?!”

He sounded about as shocked as Qui-Gon felt, and Qui-Gon’s confusion only grew as Ben hurried over, cursing quietly under his breath, and Qui-Gon was able to fully take in his appearance.

Ben’s hair was longer than it had been when they’d first met, his beard longer, and there were darker circles under his eyes that spoke of stress and too many sleepless nights. But stranger than that, he was wearing traditional Jedi robes, layers of tan and brown not unlike those Qui-Gon himself wore, and there was a lightsaber hanging at his hip.

Qui-Gon’s mind was buzzing with questions, as Ben hopped roots and landed lightly in the grass beside him, and he still was not completely convinced he wasn’t dreaming, but the first thing that emerged from his mouth as Ben crouched down was; “You’re a Jedi?!”

Ben blinked at him, startled, and then glanced down at himself, and cursed, which was answer enough.

“Why didn’t you say?” Qui-Gon demanded, tugging on Ben’s arm until the other man sat down beside him. Ben went willingly, and gave Qui-Gon a crooked, self-deprecating smile.

“It…didn’t come up in conversation?”

Qui-Gon snorted, and Ben shook his head. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t think, at the time. I’m…I’m rarely at the Temple these days, and it just…slipped my mind.”

“Why did you leave?”

Ben sighed, and dropped his head. “I…”

Something twisted in Qui-Gon’s chest, and he leaned back against the tree with a sigh. “I’m sorry. Here I am, pelting you with questions. I just…”

“No, no.” Ben shook his head. “You are right, I owe you an explanation at the very least. I just…thought it would be better for us both. I…I did not think I would see you again.”

There was something in his words that sent a shiver running down Qui-Gon’s spine, something hollow and aching. He got the sense too that there was more to the story than Ben was letting on, but he didn’t push, didn’t want to scare him away. Without a thought to what he was doing, Qui-Gon reached out and caught Ben’s hand, brushing his thumb gently over the other man’s knuckles. Ben sucked in a sharp breath at his touch, eyes snapping up to meet Qui-Gon’s. They were even more intense than Qui-Gon remembered; shifting, shimmering, blue-green, and they took his breath away. Qui-Gon smiled.

“I’m glad I get to see you again.”

Ben licked his lips, nervous energy dancing around him like static, and then he met Qui-Gon’s smile, slowly.

“I’m glad to see you again too,” he whispered.

Qui-Gon’s smile widened, and he shifted to give Ben more space to sit next to him against the tree. They sat in silence for a while, watching the sky darken and begin to fill with stars.

“I sense your thoughts are heavy,” Ben finally said, voice soft, and Qui-Gon laughed.

“Yes, I suppose they are.” He let the words hang, watching the final rays of sun vanish behind the Temple wall, and then sighed. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me in the grips of reminiscence and melancholy.” He turned to looked at Ben. “I Knighted my first Padawan today.”

Ben’s eyes widened, and filled with understanding. “Congratulations. You must be proud.”

“I am,” Qui-Gon said, looking back to the stars. “Feemor was a joy, even if I only picked up where his first Master left off. He will be a wonderful Knight.”

Ben smiled. “I know what you mean. Ana―…my Padawan was just Knighted as well.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Ben nodded.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Ben sighed, his smile fading a little. “It’s hard to believe…ten years together. It feels like it was just yesterday that I first met him.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, “I know what you mean. But…you seem worried, my friend.”

“Hm?” Ben looked up from whatever path his thoughts had lead him down, and then nodded slightly. “Yes, I suppose I am…I have no doubt he will be a great Jedi, but…well, it all feels almost too easy, I suppose.”

His eyes were taking on an oddly haunted caste, and he seem to stare right through Qui-Gon. It was unsettling, and Qui-Gon patted his knee gently, hoping to snap Ben out of it. “As a dear friend of mine is fond of telling me, don’t look too hard for trouble where there is none. You’re likely to create it, if you’re not careful.”

Ben blinked, and then seemed to shake himself, and smiled. “Your friend sounds very wise.”

Qui-Gon grinned, glad to see the light and life returned to Ben’s eyes. “Oh she is. But don’t tell her I said so, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Ben laughed, bright and clear. The sound made something in Qui-Gon’s chest stir and warm. “Oh never fear, my lips are sealed.”

Conversation came easily after that, both men taking the opportunity to reminisce about their now former students. As the night drew on, the space between them, small to begin with, shrank even further, until Ben lay with his head in Qui-Gon’s lap, Qui-Gon absently carding his fingers through the other man’s hair as he spoke, regaling Ben with a story from Qui-Gon’s own apprenticeship. He paused his words to let Ben laugh, loose and free and just as wonderfully bright as that first time Qui-Gon had heard it, in a random hotel room on one of Coruscant’s lower levels, and when Qui-Gon looked down to meet Ben’s dancing eyes, he felt his heart stutter in its rhythm.

“This is a bad idea,” Ben murmured, and Qui-Gon blinked. When had he leaned down, their faces almost touching?

“It is?” he whispered, almost missing his own words over the thundering of his heart in his ears.

Ben nodded, and then reached up, cupping Qui-Gon’s cheek, his eyes soft and a smile curving his lips. “It is. Please, don’t stop.”

And how could Qui-Gon say no to that?

He closed the rest of the space between them, pressing his lips to Ben’s gently, as Ben tipped his head up to meet him. Kissing Ben felt like coming home, and Qui-Gon couldn’t stop the quiet gasp that escaped him. Ben seized the opportunity and deepened the kiss, until Qui-Gon had to pull back for air, and to spare his neck, which was beginning to protest their choice of positions. Ben followed him up, sliding into Qui-Gon’s lap and tugging at his robes, pulling them down to expose more of Qui-Gon’s throat, and his other hand tangled in Qui-Gon’s hair.

“You,” Ben whispered, pressing kisses up the tendon line, making his way to Qui-Gon’s jaw, “Are so beautiful. Intoxicatingly.”

Qui-Gon shivered, the actions and the words mingling along his skin like fire, and his eyes slid closed as he tipped his head back, earning a pleased hum from Ben. “You flatter me.”

“Perhaps.” Qui-Gon could feel Ben’s laughter against his skin. “But I’m telling the truth. You are gorgeous, Qui-Gon. Just―” The touches vanished, and then there were hands on his face, and Qui-Gon opened his eyes to find Ben staring at him in the moonlight, silver catching in his hair. Ben smiled, and caressed Qui-Gon’s cheek. “So beautiful,” he whispered, and leaned in for another, proper kiss.

Qui-Gon kissed back, leaning into Ben’s hand as best he could without breaking the kiss. He wanted to argue, because it was Ben, Ben who was beautiful, Ben who glowed in the moonlight like something ethereal; a creature of legend or of pure Force. But his words were slipping away, and Qui-Gon couldn’t bring himself to care, not when Ben was kissing him, slow and deep, sending heat and desire spilling down into his very bones.

“Ben,” he groaned, and Ben laughed and nipped at his lips, drawing another soft moan from the other Jedi.

“Did you think about me?” he asked, moving to bite gently at the shell of Qui-Gon’s ear, voice dropping to something low and sultry. Qui-Gon shuddered, and felt a hand dip into his tunics to stroke his chest, a thumb dragging over one nipple, making his breath hitch. “After last time?” Ben continued, “Did you think about me?”

“Y-Yes,” Qui-Gon managed, and received a low chuckle that sent all his blood shooting straight down to his cock.

“Did you think about my touch?” Ben breathed, sliding his hand lower slowly, torturously. “Or having my cock in your mouth?”

Qui-Gon could only nod, as Ben pulled his hand from his tunics and went to work on the buttons of his trousers.

“I thought about you,” Ben whispered. “About your mouth on my cock, _Force_. It was all I could think about for days. You drove me to distraction, and you weren’t even there.”

Qui-Gon made a strangled, whimpering sound, and pressed his face to Ben’s shoulder. This was getting unfair! He could feel the press of Ben’s erection against his thigh, and Ben’s fingers teasing, just above where he wanted them, and his voice, and _Gods_ , he was going to drive Qui-Gon _mad_ at this rate!

“You know,” he panted, hips jerking as Ben’s hand continued its torturous trip downwards, “I remember a promise of fucking you the next time we met. And while I’m – _oh_ – still _very_ game for that, if you keep this up, I might not―”

His words trailed off as hands cupped his face, pulling him up to meet Ben’s gaze.

“You,” Ben said, lips only a hairs-breadth away from Qui-Gon’s, “Make a very good point, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon grinned and kissed him lightly. “I so often do.”

Ben laughed, and pulled away, rising to his feet in an all-together too fluid motion. He offered a hand down to Qui-Gon, and then pulled him to his feet.

“After you.”

 

* * *

 

Later, Qui-Gon would be hard pressed to remember much of the actual trip from the gardens back to his quarters, the memories fading into a blur of urgent desire and the warmth of Ben’s hand in his own, but somehow, they made it unhindered.

As the door hissed shut behind them, Qui-Gon turned, dropping Ben’s hand and scooping him up in his arms, much like he had on their first meeting. Ben laughed, legs wrapping tight around Qui-Gon’s waist, hands coming up to cup the sides of his face and kiss him without reservation, all tongue and teeth and need.

Qui-Gon groaned into his mouth, relying on the Force and habit to make it into his bedroom without tripping and dropping the other man. They made it to the bed, and Qui-Gon tried to drop Ben down onto the mattress, only to yelp when the smaller man grabbed onto his tunics and pulled Qui-Gon down after him.

“This is hardly productive for getting naked!” Qui-Gon laughed, as Ben began attacking his neck and face with kisses and gentle bites. Ben’s only response was to shove Qui-Gon’s cloak from his shoulders with the Force, sending the dark fabric flying across the room to land in a heap of the floor. Then nimble fingers were sliding under his tunics, and Qui-Gon surrendered himself to those capable hands, eyes fluttering closed as Ben tossed his tunics to join the cloak and ran his fingers over the scars that littered Qui-Gon’s shoulders and chest.

Finally, Qui-Gon’s patience gave out, and he pushed Ben down, stripping his belt away in one, swift movement. “You,” he said, kissing Ben between each layer of clothing he removed, “Are overdressed.”

“You’re still wearing pants!” Ben protested, tugging at Qui-Gon’s waistband, before Qui-Gon moved out of reach to rid them both of their boots.

“I’m getting there!”

“Well hurry up!”

Qui-Gon snorted, tossing Ben’s pants over his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his right knee. “As you wish.”

Once they were both naked, Qui-Gon sat back on his heels, and took a moment to just look. Ben had new scars since they’d last been together, on his thigh and arm most notably, but he was just as beautiful as Qui-Gon remembered, all pale skin and copper hair and strong muscles.

“Are you going to just stare?” Ben drawled, calling Qui-Gon’s attention back to the moment at hand, “Or come down here and _do_ something?”

Qui-Gon grinned, and crawled up the bed to kiss Ben, long and slow, drinking in the taste of him. Ben moaned, rutting his hips up, and Qui-Gon gasped as their cocks brushed.

 _Hurry up, please._ Ben pleaded, and Qui-Gon gasped again, for a new reason. Ben’s mental voice was warm and rich and needy, like liquid lust straight into Qui-Gon’s bloodstream. His hand shot out, using the Force to call the bottle of oil from his bedside drawer to him as he pulled away from Ben, dragging his teeth over his lower lip as he went. Blindly, he poured the oil over his fingers and then tossed it aside and reached for Ben. The man grinned up at him, a feral flash of teeth that dissolved into slack pleasure as Qui-Gon pressed a finger into him, slowly despite the desire that pooled low in his belly and made his heart race.

Just watching Ben as he stretched him was enough to have Qui-Gon closing his eyes and forcing himself to center in the Force. By the time he reached three fingers, Ben was arching up to meet his thrusts, his knuckles white where he had his fingers buried in the sheets. Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to the hollow of Ben’s hip, stroking his stomach with his free hand, watching the way Ben’s muscles twitched and spasmed at the gentle touches.

“Please!” he said again, a wrecked plea, and Qui-Gon could only nod, pull his fingers free, a fumble blindly for the oil bottle. The oil was cold against his skin, as he slicked himself up, eyes never leaving Ben’s. Ben’s beautiful, beautiful eyes, half lidded and so vibrant, widening as Qui-Gon held his hips and slowly, so, so slowly, pressed into him. Ben’s mouth, reddened and kiss-swollen, opened on a gasp, and his head fell back. Qui-Gon pressed his face to Ben’s throat, breathing hard and ragged.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, before Qui-Gon felt Ben’s legs wrap around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and felt Ben’s warm breath against his ear.

“Move. I’m okay, just move!”

Qui-Gon nodded, catching Ben’s lips in a sloppy kiss as he drew his hips back, starting up a rhythm that had them both crying out. Qui-Gon’s world narrowed down to the feeling of tight heat and the sound of Ben’s gasps and moans as he did his best to meet Qui-Gon’s thrusts.

When Ben came, he came crying out Qui-Gon’s name, clenching tight around Qui-Gon and sending him tumbling over the edge right along with him, shouting his release against Ben’s shoulder.

For a while, neither man moved, too lost in the aftermath of orgasm to think of anything else. Finally, Qui-Gon groaned, moving just enough to pull himself from Ben, before dropping back down. Ben turned, curling up against Qui-Gon’s chest. Qui-Gon managed a breathy laugh and wrapped an arm around the smaller man, pressing a kiss to his sweat-soaked hair. “That was…”

He felt Ben nod against his chest. “Yeah.” His voice sounded as wrecked as Qui-Gon felt, and it made him smile.

Qui-Gon was already near to succumbing to sleep, when he dragged his eyes open and clumsily touched Ben’s face. Ben opened one eye, frowning up at Qui-Gon with sleepy curiosity. “Ngh?”

“Stay the night?” Qui-Gon asked, in a whisper.

Ben blinked at him for another moment, and then a slow smile spread across his face, and he nodded, yawning. “I don’t think I could move, even if I wanted to,” he murmured, nuzzling Qui-Gon’s chest and closing his eyes again. Qui-Gon smiled and hugged him that much closer, and soon was asleep.

 

* * *

 

He woke alone. Again.

For a few moments, Qui-Gon stared blankly up at the ceiling. With a groan, he covered his face with his hands, squeezing his eyes closed, and allowed himself the fantasy that this was all a dream, that when he opened his eyes again, Ben would be pressed against his side. Then he sighed, and got out of bed.

His muscles ached, and he was in desperate need of a shower, but all that was forgotten as Qui-Gon rose from the bed, and his eyes landed on the slip of flimsi that sat on the other pillow, next to a long, blond braid. Snatching it up, Qui-Gon read:

**Qui-Gon,**

**I’m so sorry. I really did want to stay, believe me, I did. But I had to go. Please forgive me.**  
              **We _will_ see each other again. I’d promise, but that might be tempting the Force, so I’ll just say**  
**I have a good feeling about it.**  
**Last night was wonderful. Thank you.**

**Until next time,  
              Ben.**

**(P.S. Careful, you wouldn’t want to lose this. ;) )**

             

Qui-Gon sighed again, but he couldn’t help the smile that curled at the corners of his lips. This time, there was no lingering ache of something lost in his chest―just warmth.

“I have a good feeling about it too, Ben,” he murmured to the empty air, eyes landing on the braid, Feemor’s braid. Ben must have found it when he was dressing. Chuckling, Qui-Gon rose from the bed, letter in one hand and braid in the other, and stretched. Then he padded across the room to his closet, retrieving the box where he kept the last note and the few other precious items, carefully laying the braid and the new note in with the rest.

‘Until next time, Ben.’


	3. Wrong Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon ponders Padawans and Ben ends up in the wrong room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows.
> 
> If anyone's unsure, in this chapter, Ben's time is late in the first year of the Clone Wars.

Qui-Gon did not see Ben again for a while after that, but as the months passed, he found it was easier than before, to keep from being overwhelmed by disappointment, when yet another day went by and the other man did not appear. Ben’s note stayed vivid in his mind, and he knew the man was right. They would see each other again.

“You’re in a good mood,” Tahl noted, late one afternoon, as they made their way to the commissary, after one of their semi-regular visits to the crèche. Tahl had never hugely comfortable around the youngest of their Order, but she doted upon the older Initiates. Qui-Gon, for his part, enjoyed playing with the younglings and regaling them with stories. Especially one particular Initiate in particular, these days.

“Am I?” Qui-Gon asked mildly, nodding his head to a passing Master.

Tahl snorted. “You are. We’ve all noticed. You’ve been…calmer lately. What’s going on, oh crèche-mate mine?”

Qui-Gon laughed. “I suppose you are right, though I can’t say I have a single reason for it.”

“Mmhm,” Tahl arched an elegant eyebrow at him. “And it wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain dark-haired youngling, now would it?”

Qui-Gon’s grin only grew. “Perhaps.” At Tahl’s look, Qui-Gon laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, mostly due to him, yes. But Tahl, I think he’s meant to be next.”

To Qui-Gon’s confusion, Tahl’s smile dropped fractionally. Twisting a stray lock of hair around her finger, she looked away from him, turning her gaze the gardens they passed. “Qui-Gon, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Oh course. Tahl, he’s a brilliant child, and the Force sings around him. Why wouldn’t I teach him?”

Tahl sighed, and shook her head. “Perhaps it’s nothing. I just wonder…” She trailed off, and the shook her head again. “Never mind.”

When Qui-Gon continued to frown at her, the Noorian woman shot him a grin. “Just be on your guard, Master Jinn, lest your little hellion turn your hair white before he’s even Knighted, running you across the galaxy.”

Qui-Gon laughed at that, gesturing Tahl through the doors to the main commissary first. “Of course, Master Tahl. Though, if you were to ask Dooku, I’m sure he’d say I deserved every white hair.”

Tahl’s laughter was clear and easy, as they gathered their food and then made their way over to where Micah was already waiting for them.

 

* * *

 

The hour was growing late when Qui-Gon finally made it back to his own quarters, and he was already looking forwards to a cup of tea and some quiet as he keyed in the door code and strode into the familiarity of his home. He loved Micah and Tahl dearly, they had been his friends since he was a child, but there was nothing like the quiet of his rooms at the end of the day, with the soft background buzz in the Force of the rest of the Temple and of the plants he filled his rooms with. Smiling at the thought, Qui-Gon reached for the light switch, only to pause and frown as it finally caught his notice that the lights were already on. Indeed, now that he was paying more attention to his surroundings, he realized there were sound of movement coming from the small kitchen, movement and water boiling on the stove. Hand going to his lightsaber, Qui-Gon moved silently down the short hallway, and peered into the other room. Then he blinked, the tension draining out of him as a smile spread across his face.

“Ben?”

The other Jedi started, ever so slightly, quickly setting the tea mug he had been frowning at down on the counter, and turned to look at Qui-Gon, a tiny frown creasing his face.

“Qui-Gon? What are you―” he began, then blinked, glancing around, and sighed, his confusion clearing as quickly as it had arrived.

“Blast. I didn’t even notice.”

“Didn’t notice? That you were in my quarters?” Qui-Gon leaned against the doorframe, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Ben frowned, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “Would you believe me if I said I live nearby?”

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow.

“And…I went to the wrong room?”

The eyebrow rose higher.

“We….just happen to have the same door code? And our quarters look similar?”

“Your Master wasn’t a diplomat, were they?” Qui-Gon said lightly. “You’re a terrible liar.”

For reasons he didn’t understand, Ben’s face fell, then slid into a fixed blankness. “No, he was. I promise, I’m normally better at this. It’s just…” He sighed. “Hard to explain. I really don’t have an explanation I can give you right now.”

“But there _is_ an explanation?”

“I― Technically, yes. But I don’t think you would believe me, even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Ben frowned, and it emphasized the lines creasing his face. Qui-Gon wondered if there had been quite so many, the last time he had seen the other man. He didn’t think there had.

“I…I can’t tell you, Qui-Gon. Not right now,” Ben said, quietly. “I know you don’t have much reason to, but please, just trust me. I promise, I’ll tell you as soon as I can.”

Qui-Gon straightened, and took a few steps towards him. “I sense we are talking about more than just your unexplained appearance in my quarters.

Ben nodded. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll leave―” He moved to walk around Qui-Gon towards the door, but was stopped when Qui-Gon gently caught his shoulder.

“Wait. You don’t need to leave.”

Ben looked up at him, still frowning. “You don’t need to―”

“I want you to stay,” Qui-Gon interrupted. “It’s been too long. I enjoy your company, and I do trust you, Ben. I know that you will tell me whatever you need to, when you can.” Gently, he cupped the side of Ben’s face. His beard had grown longer, he noticed, the hair soft against Qui-Gon’s calloused palm. He soothed at a frown line with his thumb. “Please, stay.”

For a moment, Ben was still, eyes searching Qui-Gon’s face for…something. Then the moment passed and he sighed, leaning into Qui-Gon’s touch. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Wonderful. Are you hungry?”

 

* * *

 

They ended up cooking together. Ben was a far better cook than Qui-Gon, but he handled the other man’s blatant lack of ability for much beyond tea with an almost practiced ease. Ben seemed used to working with little on hand, and the end result was far more elaborate than anything Qui-Gon could have managed on his own, and smelled divine.

Ben smiled and ducked his head, abashed, when Qui-Gon mentioned this, leaning over Ben to inhale deeply.

“It’s hardly so fancy,” Ben murmured. “It’s just soup.”

“It’s just soup, and I’m Master Yoda,” Qui-Gon groaned, pressing a kiss to Ben’s cheek before pulling away to let him finish serving. Ben snorted, and Qui-Gon grinned, triumphant.

“Come one then, Master Yoda,” Ben said, handing Qui-Gon a bowl with steam curling up from it, silvery and soft. “Let’s eat.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

The soup was wonderful, just as Qui-Gon had known it would be, and dinner was a joyful affair. Ben’s laughter, Qui-Gon was quickly coming to discover, was his favorite sound, and as he ate, Qui-Gon resolved to try and get Ben laughing more.

When the food was gone, Ben stood, moving to gather up the dishes and take them to clean, only to stop when Qui-Gon rose and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me.”

“Oh, I can do it. Really, it’s no trouble.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “You cooked. What kind of host would I be if I made do the cleaning as well?”

Ben frowned, looking unconvinced. “I really don’t mind.”

“And I insist.” Gently, Qui-Gon guided the man into the main sitting room and down onto the couch, plucking the bowls from his hands. “Sit, relax. Would you like tea?”

Ben hesitated for another moment, and then sighed, a fond smile spreading across his lips. “Well, if you insist. Tea would be lovely.”

Qui-Gon grinned, and kissed his forehead. “I’ll bring it out to you.”

Making tea was something akin to meditation for Qui-Gon. Everything had its specific place in his kitchen; the cups, the pot, the tea itself, and he knew the pattern well enough to do it in his sleep. Water on to boil, heat the pot and the cups, add the tea and the boiling water and steep. Qui-Gon smiled, inhaling the steam that curled up as he poured the tea into two cups, enjoying the delicate scent. This tea was knew, something he had picked up on the recommendation of his former Master’s friend, Sifo-Dyas. The tea, relatively hard to get here on Coruscant, was a native from their shared home world, and a treat Qui-Gon thought Ben would appreciate.

When he returned to the main room, mug in hand, Ben was still sitting on the couch where Qui-Gon had left him, flipping idly through a pad Qui-Gon had left sitting on the table. He looked up as Qui-Gon approached, and smiled.

“That smells wonderful.”

Qui-Gon grinned. “It is. Here.” He handed over the cup, and Ben took it, raising it up to his nose to breath in the scent.

“Oh, lovely. What is it?” He took a sip, and his eyes widened. “Oh my.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “It’s good isn’t it?”

“Fantastic. I’ve never had anything like it.”

“It’s from my home planet. I only learned about it recently.”

Ben’s eyebrow rose, and he look down at the mug again.

“Thank you.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “You’re welcome. Enjoy it, and I’ll just go do those dishes.”

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon worked his way through the dishes slowly, feeling no particular urgency. He could sense Ben in other room when he reached out, reassuring a tiny part of him, the one that feared Ben would vanish again the moment Qui-Gon turned his back. When he was about half way through, he set down the dish rag and turned off the water, reaching for his own tea with a quiet sigh.

Silent hands slid over his hips, and Qui-Gon jumped, nearly knocking his cup over, before it was caught with the Force and moved a safe distance away.

“Sensitive,” Ben purred, breath warm against the back of Qui-Gon’s neck.

“Sneaky,” Qui-Gon shot back, leaning back against him, as Ben laughed and buried his nose in Qui-Gon hair. “Weren’t you going to wait for me?”

“Got lonely,” Ben replied, voice muffled.

“Well,” Qui-Gon pulled back and turned, wrapping his arms around Ben’s waist and smiling down at him, “We can’t have that.”

Ben grinned, rising up on his toes to pull Qui-Gon down for a kiss. It started out slow, soft and chaste, but soon it harder, hotter; Ben’s mouth opening against Qui-Gon’s with a whispered moan.

When they finally apart, dishes fully forgotten, Qui-Gon’s breathing was a little rough, and Ben’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark with lust.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, and Qui-Gon shivered at the undercurrent of want that changed the meaning of the words completely.

Qui-Gon smiled, and leaned in to brush his lips over the shell of Ben’s ear. “Come to bed with me, Master Lars?”

Ben smiled at him, heat burning low and steady in his gaze. “Tired already, Master Jinn?”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Not quite. But I’m sure we can find a way to pass the time.”

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon woke slowly, warmth and contentment tugging at his mind, trying to drag him back under. But there was warm, steady breath against his ear, and arms around his waist, so Qui-Gon dragged his eyes open, to take in the sight of his bedpartner.

Ben was still asleep, head pillowed on Qui-Gon’s shoulder, arms wrapped around the other man’s waist and one leg thrown across his bare hips, effectively pinning Qui-Gon to the bed. There was, Qui-Gon had learned, a surprising amount of strength packed into those deceivingly slender limbs. That thought brought the memory of the previous night creeping back; Ben pressing him down, pinning Qui-Gon’s wrists above his head with his hands and his hips with the Force, kissing and biting and touching until Qui-Gon thought he would go mad, and then finally sinking into him with a groan would haunt Qui-Gon for years to come. Qui-Gon closed his eyes at the thought, biting his lip against a smile, and felt his cock twitch.

Ben stirred, muscles tensing and flexing as he stretched against Qui-Gon’s side like a large cat, a pleased noise slipping passed his lips. He was still for a moment, and then his eyes slid open, and Qui-Gon found himself once again the focus of those gorgeous, piercing eyes. He smiled and bumped his forehead against Ben’s.

“Good morning.”

Ben blinked, and confusion flickered across his features. “Oh,” he said, a startled gust of air. “I had thought…” He trailed off, the confusion fading, replaced with a soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Good morning.”

Qui-Gon considered questioning him, chasing that confusion to its source and ridding the other man of it. But he was warm, and the room was quiet, filled with the first streaks of early morning light from the crack between shades and window sill, and the bed was soft, so instead, he rolled onto his side and pulled Ben close to kiss him.

“I like waking up with you beside me,” Qui-Gon murmured, as the kiss broke. Ben smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry it hasn’t happened more often.”

Qui-Gon cupped Ben’s face, stroking his cheek gently with his thumb. “It just makes the occasions it does that much more wonderful.”

Ben blinked, eyes shining suddenly, and he swallowed hard. “Has anyone told you, you’re a ridiculous, sappy man, Qui-Gon Jinn?” he asked.

Qui-Gon laughed. “Not to my face.”

“Well you are.” Ben said, leaning in to kiss him again.

Qui-Gon hummed against his lips, pulling him closer. When they broke apart, Ben sighed, still smiling, and dropped his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes. For a time they lay in silence, enjoying the peace and the fact that they were together and neither of them needed to be anywhere in particular. Eventually, Ben dropped back into a light doze, and Qui-Gon found himself watching the rise and fall of the other man’s chest and tracing the scars that painted his skin with gentle fingers.

Ben was covered in scars. Qui-Gon had noticed them before, but never really had the state of mind to focus on them further than to figure out which ones would make Ben moan if he licked them. Now, in the peace and the stillness of his bedroom, Ben’s breathing soft and steady, Qui-Gon took the change to catalogue them.

Starting at the top, a pale, crooked line, mostly hidden by Ben’s hair, near to his temple. From there, his shoulders were littered in marks, all varying ages and shapes. The most notable was a ragged gash on his bicep, the skin silky soft to the touch. Lightsaber scarring. Brushing the mark with his thumb, Qui-Gon wondered just how Ben had acquired it. It was no souvenir of a sparring mishap, that was for certain. Further down, there were scars on his arms, a suture scar on his stomach. There were more still, Qui-Gon knew, below the waist, covered by the bedsheets.

“You’re staring.”

Qui-Gon looked down to see Ben smiling sleepily at him through half opened eyes.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Ben nodded, yawing and shifting, pushing himself up on one elbow. “I’m a light sleeper, it wasn’t your fault.”

Qui-Gon hummed, leaning in to press his lips to the scar on Ben’s shoulder, mouthing at it until Ben shivered and pushed him away. Qui-Gon chuckled and watched as Ben rolled over and spread out on top of him, leaving them nose to nose. Ben smiled, rolling his hips and leaned in, catching Qui-Gon’s lips in a slow, toe-curling kiss.

“You,” Ben murmured, between pressing kisses to Qui-Gon’s face, “Are a very distracting man.”

“I thought I was sappy and ridiculous?”

“Mm, yes, that too.” Ben heaved a contented sigh and rolled off him, cuddling back up against Qui-Gon’s side. Qui-Gon wrapped an arm around his shoulders and began to card his hair, smiling when Ben purred.

“I think I’m going to take on another Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, conversationally, a little while later, when the comfortable silence had resettled over the room.

“Oh?” Ben asked, eyes closed.

“Mmhm.”

“Anyone I might know?”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I don’t know. He came to us rather late, but Xanatos is brilliant child, and I believe he’ll be a great Jedi.”

Ben sat up abruptly, fully awake and eyes alert. “Xanatos?” he demanded, staring at Qui-Gon, a frown marring his face. “The boy from Telos?”

Confused, Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes. I found him on search. Have you met him before? Is something wrong?”

“I―” Ben stopped, and shook his head. “No…no, nothing’s wrong.”

Qui-Gon frowned. Ben’s words were strained and he had gone tense, hand clenched like he was restraining himself from doing something rash. Concerned, Qui-Gon reached out, catching on of Ben’s hands in his own and began to rub soothing circles against his knuckles. “Are you sure?”

Ben nodded, slowly beginning to relax. “I’m sure…” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry, I startled you.”

Qui-Gon’s frown softened, but he was still not fully convinced. He pressed a kiss to Ben’s hair. “It’s alright. But, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Ben sighed. “I know. I really do, Qui-Gon, and I appreciate it more than I can say. It’s really nothing. Just…” he glanced up, meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes. “Be careful.”

Qui-Gon frowned, but nodded. “Of course. I always am.”

Ben snorted, a tiny smile curling his mouth, and he closed his eyes, leaning back against Qui-Gon’s chest. Then, just as Qui-Gon was beginning to think it was safe to relax, Ben startled again, nearly vaulting away from Qui-Gon and out of the bed.

“Kriff! What time is it?”

Now thoroughly bewildered, Qui-Gon reached for his comm, watching Ben scramble around the room, pulling on his clothes. “Um, almost ninth hour.”

Ben swore viciously, struggling with his boots. “I’m so, so sorry, Qui-Gon. I have to go! I’m supposed to be off planet in,” he hesitated, thinking, “Less than an hour.”

Qui-Gon sighed, pushing himself up out of bed. He padded over to where Ben was tugging on his cloak, and reached out, smoothing the dark fabric over Ben’s shoulders. Then he tugged Ben in, pressing their foreheads together.

“It’s alright,” he said, smiling. “The Order comes first after all. Do you know when you will be back?”

Ben sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. But hopefully soon.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Alright.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to Ben’s. “Be safe. Come home to me.”

Ben stilled in the kiss at the words, blinking rapidly. Then he nodded and kissed back before pulling away. “I will.”

Qui-Gon let him go, and with one last smile, Ben turned, and walked away. Qui-Gon watched him go in silence. Absently, he rubbed his chest, trying to sooth the sudden, phantom ache there. He wasn’t quite sure why or how exactly, but he suddenly felt as if he had been lied to.

‘Come back to me soon, Love.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter isn't too rushed. And come say hi to me on Tumblr! (Same name)


	4. The Calm Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Padawan, meet, well....

Qui-Gon had to bite back a sigh of relief at the familiar sight of their front door. At his side, Xanatos did not have such qualms, heaving a huge sigh and letting his shoulders slump forwards.

“I am so tired!” The boy exclaimed, leaning heavily against the wall as Qui-Gon chuckled and punched in the door code. Absently, he reached out to ruffle Xanatos’ hair.

“Lucky for you then, Padawan, we are finally home.”

“Finally.” Xanatos groaned, nearly shoving past Qui-Gon in his eagerness to flop on the couch, only come to a screeching halt that had Qui-Gon, half asleep on his feet as he was, nearly tripping over the 14-year-old.

“Padawan, what―?” he began, only to be cut off when Xanatos demanded, “Who are you?!”

Looking up, Qui-Gon’s eyes fell on a figure sitting on the couch, tea mug in one hand. A grin spread across his face, and he untangled himself from his student to hurry over to where the other Jedi was rising from his seat. “Ben!”

Ben smiled a little sheepishly but accepted the tight hug Qui-Gon offered him. “Hello, Qui-Gon. I’m sorry for dropping in unannounced again. And for startling you, Young One.” He said, peering around Qui-Gon’s shoulder to offer Xanatos a tiny smile. Xanatos scowled, but it was unnoticed by the two men, as Qui-Gon pulled away to squeeze Ben’s shoulders and peer into his face.

There were definitely more lines than before on Ben’s face, making him look far older than he ought to. Qui-Gon frowned, realizing he was not actually sure he knew how old Ben was. When they had first met, he had assumed they were around the same age, but it had been almost a decade (and Force, where had the time gone?) and he didn’t seem that much older, beyond the unnatural aging of stress. Qui-Gon shook his head, turning his focus back to the moment. A question for another time. It was probably nothing more than exhaustion playing tricks on his mind. And he wasn’t the only one, clearly; there were deep, bruise-dark bags under Ben’s eyes, and his skin looked a shade too pale.

“Do I have something on my face?” Ben teased, and Qui-Gon laughed, caught in his scrutiny. He glanced down, and snorted as he tried to hold back further laughter.

“Not on your face, but certainly on the rest of you. What happened, did you fall into a gundark nest?”

Ben’s lips quirked. “Something like that.”

“You are going to have to give me more of an explanation.” Qui-Gon threated. “But for now, Xanatos,” he turned, gesturing for the boy to join them, “This is Master Ben Lars, an old friend of mine. Ben, this is my Padawan, Xanatos.”

Ben’s face was the picture of easy calm, but something about it felt ill at ease to Qui-Gon. Ben bowed his head. “A pleasure to meet you, Padawan. Qui-Gon has told me a lot about you. He’s very proud of you.”

Xanatos seemed torn between scowling and grinning at the praise. “He’s never mentioned you.”

Qui-Gon blinked, startled by the rudeness of the comment. “Padawan that is enough!” he barked. “Apologize to Master Lars!”

Xanatos’ expression became mutinous, but he ducked his head and mumbled, “I’m sorry for my rudeness, Master Lars.”

Ben smiled gently. “Apology accepted, Padawan. I promise I took no offense.”

That did not seem to placate the Padawan, who turned to Qui-Gon. “Master, may I be excused? I want to go eat.”

Qui-Gon sighed, nodding. “Alright. You may go. But don’t be out late, we will be talking about this later.”

“Yes, Master,” Xanatos mumbled, already in motion as he dropped his pack beside the sofa and vanished out the door.

Qui-Gon sighed again, dropping his own pack and settling heavily onto the sofa. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion making itself know now that he had finally given it time to emerge. “I’m sorry about that, Ben. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy. Some days his behavior is impeccable, but others…”

Ben sat down beside him, rubbing his shoulder gently. “It’s alright Qui-Gon. I promise, I’m really not offended.”

Qui-Gon hummed, closing his eyes and leaning back, opening himself to the Force and the Temple around him. It was good to be home, surrounded once again by the familiar comings and goings of thousands of Force-users. He could feel his plants too, and the plants in the gardens. They made up a softer, background hum, easy and unconcerned. He could feel Ben too, a brilliant point of energy beside him, but the other man felt…drained. Qui-Gon frowned and opened his eyes, turning to look more closely at his companion.

“Ben? Is everything alright?”

Ben sighed and turned his head to give Qui-Gon a tiny, self-deprecating smile. “Just tired, my friend.”

“Long missions?” Qui-Gon asked, understanding that all too well. A Jedi’s life was a hard one, but even the greatest of Masters had their limits, and it could become incredibly draining if missions began to bleed into one another with little time to rest and re-center yourself.

A soft huff of distracted laughter, and Ben turned his gaze back to the climbing vine that was stubbornly making its way up Qui-Gon’s bookshelf. “Something like that.”

Qui-Gon was silent, waiting for further elaboration, but none came. Ben’s silence tugged at him, a niggling voice at the back of his mind that whispered about just how little he knew about the other man. For Force’s sake, he didn’t even know his real name! All he had were initials.

But, another part of Qui-Gon’s mind reasoned, the part that ache when Ben was gone, he also knew the way Ben’s expression tightened with grief when the conversation turned to questions Ben could not, would not, answer. Ben would tell him when he was ready, Qui-Gon was certain. He trusted the other man. Why, he could not say, but he did. He had trusted Ben that first night, inexplicably but without question, the Force singing the rightness of his choice, and he would not falter now.

“Well,” Qui-Gon said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them, both lost in their own thoughts, “You look about as tired as I feel. More so, even. Come on.” Rising to his feet, Qui-Gon offered Ben his hand. Ben looked at it, and the frowned up at Qui-Gon, confusion and exhaustion mixing to make his eyes look more grey than blue.

Qui-Gon smiled wiggled his fingers. “Come on.”

Ben took his hand, still frowning, and allowed Qui-Gon to pull him upright. “Where are we going?”

Leading him by the hand, Qui-Gon guided Ben towards his bedroom, with its tiny, attached ‘fresher room. “I need a shower, and hot water is relaxing. Then we are going to sleep.”

Ben hummed, and when Qui-Gon looked over his shoulder, he was smiling. “Alright,” he murmured.

 

* * *

 

They abandoned their clothing in Qui-Gon’s bedroom. Qui-Gon tossed his things immediately down the laundry chute, but Ben refused, and Qui-Gon was unable to convince him otherwise. Finally, he gave in, grumbling about the other man’s terminal stubbornness until Ben was laughing quietly.

Grinning, Qui-Gon padded over to the attached ‘fresher room, but before he could make it through the door, he was being turned by a hand on his shoulder, and then Ben was stretching up to kiss him. Qui-Gon kissed back, keeping it as gently and chaste as Ben had started it. Later, there would be time for other things, but for now, there was no need to rush.

Ben was smiling when they parted, but it was small and brittle, as if he would crack and shatter if it were any larger. The expression made Qui-Gon’s chest ache.

“You look exhausted.”

Ben breathed out a huff of laughter and closed his eyes. “I am.”

“Come one then,” Qui-Gon said gently, guiding Ben ahead of him with a hand on the small of his back. “Hot water, dead ahead.” He reached out as he spoke, using the Force to turn the knobs of the ‘fresher so that the water was already streaming down by the time they reached it, steam filling the chamber.

Ben gave vent to a quiet groan as he stepped under the stream, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to let the water hit his face. “Stars, this feels good.”

“I’m glad,” Qui-Gon said, joining him under the spray, wrapping his arms around Ben’s waist when the other man stepped closer, pulling him up against his chest. Ben sighed, soft and relieved, and rested his head against Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

They stood like that for a time, until Qui-Gon dipped his head to press a kiss to Ben’s hair. “Let me wash your hair for you.”

It took Ben a moment to answer, and Qui-Gon got the sense he might have slipped into a light trance. But then he was looking up at Qui-Gon. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know, but I want to. I want to take care of you.”

Ben sighed. “I know that look. You won’t settle for no, will you?”

“If you really don’t want me to, I won’t,” Qui-Gon said. “I don’t want to force you.”

Ben shook his head. “No, no, it’s alright. I would like that, thank you.”

“Are you sure? You won’t hurt my feelings.”

Ben smiled, a little bigger that the odd, brittle smile from before. “I’m sure, Qui-Gon. Please, I’d love if you’d wash my hair.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Alright then.”

Ben stood still for him as Qui-Gon worked shampoo into his hair, filling the ‘fresher with lightly scented steam. With every breath, Qui-Gon felt himself relax a little more, and as he began massaging at Ben’s scalp, the tension seemed to drain from the other man like water. Qui-Gon smiled at the sight. “How’s the pressure?”

Ben groaned. “Perfect.”

Chuckling, Qui-Gon turned his focus back to his work, carefully rinsing the suds from auburn hair. When he was finished, he bent his head and pressed a kiss to a freckled shoulder. Ben leaned into the contact and then turned to kiss Qui-Gon properly.

“Thank you,” he murmured against Qui-Gon’s lips, and then pulled back, allowing Qui-Gon to get a look at him.

The tension was not gone completely, but it was a start. He had new scars again, and his beard was longer, but other than that Ben looked mostly the same. It was a relief. Qui-Gon smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

Qui-Gon reached for the shampoo again. “Let me just wash my own, and then we can get out.”

“Wait,” Ben said, tugging Qui-Gon close again and down into another kiss. Qui-Gon went willing, smiling against Ben’s lips. Ben’s hands slid from his shoulders, down his chest and sides, a firm drag of pressure that made Qui-Gon shiver despite the heat of the water, as Ben pressed closer, deepening the kiss. Qui-Gon groaned, letting himself be herded back against the ‘fresher wall. He tried to form words, as Ben pulled away from his lips to mouth at his throat, dragging teeth over sensitive skin, but they slipped away, intangible as smoke when Ben’s hands tightened on his hips, reminding Qui-Gon of just how much strength hide in the lithe body pressed against his own.

Ben made a ragged noise against Qui-Gon’s skin, dragging his teeth over Qui-Gon’s collar bone. Qui-Gon hissed, eyes falling closed as he tipped his head back against the cool tile.

Ben squeezed his hips again, and then the mouth at Qui-Gon’s throat vanished.

Qui-Gon gasped, eyes flying open as Ben pressed his lips to the head of his cock, tongue lapping at his slit.

“Ben, oh Force! Ben, stop, wait a moment!”

Ben stopped, pulling away to stare up at Qui-Gon in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Qui-Gon sighed, tipping his head back and covering his face with a hand for a moment, trying to distract himself from the image of Ben, kneeling on the tiles, peering up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, water streaming down his pale skin and turning his hair the colour of burnished copper.

“You’re tired,” he managed. “You don’t need to do this. This was supposed to be about making us _both_ feel better, nothing more.”

Ben shook his head. “You enjoy it, and I want to.”

“I may enjoy it, but you don’t need to―”

Ben sighed, the warm air against Qui-Gon’s skin making him shiver, momentarily cutting off his words, and leaned his cheek against Qui-Gon’s thigh, closing his eyes. Water trickled down his face, catching in his hair and sliding off his eyelashes like tears.

“Qui-Gon, I want to,” he repeated, voice so soft Qui-Gon almost missed it over the noise of the shower. “I like doing this.” Then even softer still, like a voice from a dream: “I like being here, with you. It’s peaceful. I don’t have to think, I don’t have to be in control _all the time_. Here, I don’t have to be a Master, I don’t have to be General Ke―” His voice caught, and he faltered. “Lars.”

Qui-Gon noticed the slip, but had no time to pull his brain into gear to focus on it, or the ‘General’ part, as Ben opened his eyes and looked up at Qui-Gon. His pupils were blown wide, and his gaze full of a need that went beyond the lust that was still singing in both their veins. “Please,” he whispered, ragged and a little desperate. “Please, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon bit his lip against a groan that really had no place in such a vulnerable moment. With a clumsy hand, he reached down to cup Ben’s cheek, brushing a calloused thumb over kiss swollen lips. Ben made a noise almost like a whimper, pulling Qui-Gon’s thumb into his mouth to suck, and Qui-Gon surrendered his few, weak reservations about the other man’s willingness.

“Please.”

Ben released his thumb immediate, leaning in. He braced both hands against Qui-Gon’s hips, squeezing tight enough to bruise with scarred fingers, and pushed him further back against the cool tiled wall of the ‘fresher. With a glance up at Qui-Gon, expression suddenly sly, Ben leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to Qui-Gon’s stomach, teasing. Before Qui-Gon could even begin to put together a response, a demand, a plea, Ben moved again and then the head of his cock was being engulfed in wet heat.

Qui-Gon sucked in a gasp, tipping his head back against the wall. He clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides, fighting against the urge to thrust further into the warmth of Ben’s mouth; the ‘fresher was not the best place for this and neither man’s balance was very good.

Ben hummed, sliding his mouth down a little further, nimble fingers wrapping around what his mouth could not. Qui-Gon could feel his legs trembling, muscles spamming, out of his control. He lost himself in the feel of it, of Ben. The rush of the ‘fresher filled his ears, mixing with the thundering of his own heartbeat. Blindly, he reached out, his hand settling on Ben’s head, fingers tangling in wet hair. It earned him another pleased noise, the vibration making him cry out and tighten his hold.

He wouldn’t last much longer, Qui-Gon knew. With all the control he could muster, he gathered up the Force and reached out, wrapping a tendril around Ben’s own cock, and squeezed him with phantom fingers. The reaction was instantaneous; Ben choked on a gasp, pulling back enough to breathe and stare up at Qui-Gon with wide, almost frantic eyes. It was only there for a moment, though, and then he was diving back in with a new air of determination that pushed Qui-Gon that much closer to the end.

_Oh sweet Force, you’ll be the end of me_ , Qui-Gon thought, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to match the pressure and pull on Ben’s cock with what Ben was doing to him. Below him, Ben’s whole body twitched, and Qui-Gon distantly felt another mind brush his. He reached for the presence, wanted, needing to feel Ben more, but it slipped away and then he was coming with a shout, Ben’s strong, sure hands pinning his hips to the wall, mouth still wrapped around Qui-Gon’s cock.

When the high of his orgasm began to fade, Qui-Gon felt Ben pull fully away, hands gently releasing his hips. With a groan, Qui-Gon gave into his liquid legs and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, breathing hard. His mind felt pleasantly hazy, but not so much that he did not notice that Ben was still hard, though it was clearly a near thing. Smiling, Qui-Gon held his arms out.

“Come here.”

Ben did not hesitate, shuffling forwards the few feet needed to put him in Qui-Gon’s arms, almost in his lap. Qui-Gon pulled him close, shifting him until he had Ben’s back pressed up against his chest. He wrapped one arm around Ben’s waist, wrapping his other hand around Ben’s cock as he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin where Ben’s neck and jaw joined. All it took were a few solid stroke and Ben came with a gasp, nearly silent in his release as his entire body went tense and then slack all at once, slumping back against Qui-Gon.

They stayed there until the water began to run cold, shocking them both out of their daze. Qui-Gon groaned, pressing his face against Ben’s shoulder, like maybe that would make the cold stop. Ben laughed tiredly and pressed a kiss to his hair. “We should move.”

Qui-Gon groaned, but reluctantly released Ben and let the other man help pull him to his feet. They quickly washed again in the cold water, and then the ‘fresher was abandoned in favor of warm towels and an even warmer bed.

They worked mainly in silence, until Qui-Gon wrapped himself around Ben, pulling him close, and asked, “Are you alright?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Ben shifted, turning into Qui-Gon’s arm so they were face to face. He was smiling, the desperation gone from his eyes, along with some of the bone-deep exhaustion. “I’m alright.”

Qui-Gon searched his face. “Something is wearing on you. You look like you’ve aged beyond your years.” He paused, frowning. “And yet…not.” His earlier confusion returned with a vengeance. He knew he wasn't imagining it; Ben didn’t look that much older than he had when they had first met. Ten, maybe fifteen years, but that did not line up, even for Qui-Gon, who aged slower than most human sub-species.

The worried lines re-appeared on Ben’s face. “I―” he began, and then stopped, swallowing hard. “I can’t…”

Qui-Gon sighed, closing his eyes. “Can’t tell me. I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben whispered. He sounded near to tears, and Qui-Gon could feel his pulling away. He opened his eyes, searching Ben’s.

“One thing,” he finally said, voice gentle. “Tell me one thing. Please, Ben. I’m worried about you.”

Ben hesitated, face conflicted. “I…” He sighed and nodded, a short, sharp motion. “Alright. One thing.”

Qui-Gon waited, silent, as Ben thought. Finally, he spoke. “I was in a battle.”

Qui-Gon blinked. “A battle?”

Ben nodded. “One of many. A war. It’s still not over, but I was called back.”

Qui-Gon turned this over in his head. “I have not heard of any wars with Jedi aide.”

Ben’s expression was tired, and suddenly he looked so old. “One thing, Qui-Gon. Please, give me a little more time. I will…I will tell you more soon.”

Qui-Gon wanted to protest, want to demand more answers, but Ben was right. He had been promised one answer, and one answer he had been given. He nodded. “Alright.”

He felt Ben’s sigh against his collarbone, and pulled the other man closer, pressing a kiss to his damp hair. “Sleep now. I’ve got you.”

Ben’s arms slid around him, holding tight, like he was scared of being pulled away. “Until we wake up.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “I’m expecting one hell of a good morning kiss.” His chest felt too tight. They both knew just how likely it was that these words would be made lies.

“The best of your life,” Ben murmured. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon was not surprised to wake up alone.


	5. Falling Falling Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone saw this coming, but him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to thebisexualmandalorian for giving this a read-over for me!! <3
> 
> Bit of a short chapter this time round, but I didn't want to stretch this out to much and risk making it too melodramatic or anything. I hope you all enjoy!

Telos.

Telos was a point. A single moment of time in incomprehensibly vast universe. A single moment, gone as quickly as it began.

A moment eternal. A moment frozen, crystalizing around Qui-Gon, trapping him in a never-ending nightmare.

From the moment Xanatos― snarling, angry, Fallen, his beautiful, brilliant child, gone, gone, _gone_ ― had vanished, the world around Qui-Gon had seemed to slow. Somehow, he made his way back to Coruscant, though he did not know how. Somehow, he gave his report to the Council, but his words vanished from memory the moment they passed his lips. He had felt the worried glances of the Masters who surrounded him, and felt…nothing. He had bowed. He had turned. He had left.

And the he was back in his quarters. Not even bothering to turn on the lights, he slumped down on the couch, his knees giving out on him at last.

Qui-Gon did not know how long he sat there, staring at his own hands. They were shaking, he noted absently, distantly, like they were somebody else’s, not his own. He wondered why his rooms were so empty, so quiet. That wasn’t right, was it? There was supposed to be…someone else. The rooms were silent, but for a steady, ragged noise that Qui-Gon couldn’t focus on long enough to identify. He was cold. Why was he cold?

There was supposed to be someone else, but he―

“Qui-Gon?”

A distant voice, familiar but intangible. On its heels, the sound of the door closing.

“Qui-Gon?” the voice called again, and then there were footsteps approaching. They drew closer, echoing in Qui-Gon’s ears like he was underwater and someone was shouting at him from above the surface, telling him to swim up. He wanted to swim up, wanted to hear what was being said, but he couldn’t move. His legs felt like lead, holding him under the waves, and he couldn’t breathe, even as his lungs protested, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, and when he looked down there was darkness holding him, dragging him down even as he fought to swim, and he couldn’t _breathe_ ―

“Qui-Gon!”

There was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight, so tight, heat flooding his skin where the pressure was, and fear, someone else’s fear and concern and warmth and light, sharp and bright and startling, and Qui-Gon opened his eyes to see blue.

“B-Ben?”

Relief flooded those blue eyes, and Ben nodded. “Yes. Yes, Qui-Gon, it’s me. I’m here.”

Qui-Gon tried to breathe normally, but the relief he felt at seeing the other man, at feeling his hand on his shoulder as a solid, tangible connection, keeping him anchored to the world, keeping him from slipping away, was overwhelming him. It struck him like a blow to the chest, and he felt his breath start to come too fast.

“Ben.”

It was a ragged, contorted version of his name, desperate and cracking. Tears filled Qui-Gon’s eyes, blurring his vision.

“ _Ben_.”

And then Ben was there, on the sofa beside him; pulling Qui-Gon close, nearly into his lap. The air shook with ragged sobs that Qui-Gon couldn’t stops, couldn’t control. He was shaking, crumbling, falling apart with every breath as reality caught up to him in a rush.

Ben’s fingers ran through his hair, steady and unwavering, a point for Qui-Gon to cling to, and cling he did. Soothing fingers and soothing voice, Ben held on and Qui-Gon gave in, and let go.

He had no idea how long Ben held onto him. He had no idea how long he cried. All he knew was the warmth of Ben’s arm and the _grief-hurt-rage-sorrow_ that raged inside him, fighting to get out.

Finally, when his sobs had faded to hard breathing and the tremors that wracked his body had ceased, Qui-Gon felt Ben move under him. Calloused fingers slid to cup his face, gently pulling him away from where Qui-Gon was all but curled around the smaller man, making him meet Ben’s eyes.

There was no pity in those eyes, and Qui-Gon loved Ben all the more for it. There was only grief and sorrow, and when he leaned in, Ben pressed a gentle kiss to the centre of Qui-Gon’s brow.

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon whispered. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, rough and cracked and distant. Ben shook his head, dropping one hand from his face to squeeze Qui-Gon’s hand.

“Don’t be. You have every right to feel this way, Qui, and gods, I am so sorry.”

Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes closed and curled back close to Ben. “You couldn’t have done anything,” he croaked.

Ben did not respond immediately, but Qui-Gon felt arms tighten around him. He was still shaking, he realized, tiny, unceasing tremors, like he had been stuck out in the cold too long. As if the realization had flipped a switch of some sort, Qui-Gon was suddenly struck by a bone-deep exhaustion that left him utterly drained. He gave no sign, but Ben must have noticed anyway, because he slowly pulled away.

“Come on,” Ben said gently, rising slowly to his feet and tugging Qui-Gon up with him. “Let’s get you to the ‘fresher, alright?”

Qui-Gon nodded, and passively allowed Ben to lead him from the couch and manhandle him into the ‘fresher. He felt hollow, like the grief and rage had been the only things left keeping him going, and now that they were gone there was just…nothing.

Ben’s hands were gentle on his skin and hair as they stood under the rushing water. The sound of it filled Qui-Gon’s ears, and then he blinked and it was gone, and Ben was carefully urging him to sit and let him dry his hair. There was a new scar on his arm, and Qui-Gon had not noticed it, not until Ben brushed his thumb over the silken skin with the utmost care. It was enough to make Qui-Gon breath hit and the pain in his chest, not gone but quieted, like a smoldering ember in a fire grate, flare up again, bright and strong. Ben pulled his hand away with a murmured apology.

A pair of sleep pants were pressed into Qui-Gon’s lax hands, and he put them on without thinking about it. Ben rewarded the action with gentle words of praise that faded into nonsense before they reached Qui-Gon’s ears. Then Qui-Gon was being pressed done onto the bed, and a warm body curled around him. Finally, he found his words.

“Ben, I―”

“Shh,” Ben soothed, breath warm of Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “Sleep, Qui.”

Qui-Gon shifted, turning so he was face to face with the other man, and cupped his face with hands that still trembled slightly.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

The words slipped out without his permission, cracked and horse. Ben’s expression softened even further, and he turned his head, pressing a kiss to the center of Qui-Gon’s palm.

“You won’t be. I’m here, and I will be here when you wake. I promise you, Love, I’ll be here.”

Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut against the ache, and pulled Ben close, sighing in almost painful relief when Ben wrapped his arms around him and pressed his lips to Qui-Gon’s hair.

“I’ve got you. You’re not alone,” Ben whispered, his voice like the Force itself, warm and alive, seeping into Qui-Gon’s veins and filling them with gentle warmth. “Now _sleep_ , Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon was too tired to fight the suggestion, and sleep overtook him quickly, aided by the steady sound of Ben’s heartbeat under his ear.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon woke slowly, his head pounding and his eyes full of grit. He groaned and tried to push himself up into a sitting position, wondering just when he had gotten to his bed. Last he remembered, he had been sitting on the couch and―

Gently hands brushed his shoulder and back, gentling and then helping Qui-Gon sit.

“Easy,” came a quiet voice, and one of those hands stroked his hair. “Don’t push yourself, Qui.”

Qui-Gon blinked, trying to clear the fog from his eyes and mind, and then it all came rushing back. Telos, Xanatos, drowning in crippling darkness and grief, so thick he couldn’t breathe or think and―

“Ben.”

The other Jedi was sitting beside him, hands still feather-light on Qui-Gon’s bare skin. There was a tiny smile on his lips, but his eyes were filled with concern and sorrow.

Qui-Gon swallowed past the new flood of…grief was too light a word for it, and his words came out as whispers. “You’re still here.”

Ben nodded, and the sorrow in his eyes only grew. “I promised you I’d stay.”

He had promised that before as well, but Qui-Gon did not say that. Instead he leaned in and let Ben wrap his arms around him, pulling Qui-Gon tight against his smaller frame. Relief filled Qui-Gon, even as the ache began to build once again in the back of his throat and behind his eyes. Ben made it easier to breathe. Ben made him feel like he might be able to stay sane.

“Xanatos…he…” Qui-Gon rasped, voice shaking and dying off, his composure already almost completely gone once again.

“I know,” Ben whispered. Qui-Gon felt his lips in his hair. “I heard. Qui-Gon, I’m so sorry.”

“My fault,” Qui-Gon said, and squeezed his eyes closed as a fresh sob welled up. “My fault, and now he’s―”

Yellow eyes, toxic and full of hate. Xanatos snarling as he pointed his blade at Qui-Gon’s throat, the room still filled with the scent of burnt flesh and the echoes of Crion’s screams.

“It was not your fault,” Ben said. His voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the foul memories and drawing Qui-Gon back to the present. “Xanatos made his choices. There was nothing you could have done.”

Qui-Gon shook his head viciously. He refused to believe that. “I was his Master. He was my responsibility, to train in the Light, and I failed him.” He was proud, when his voice shook only slightly.

Ben sighed, but he seemed to sense that arguing the point would lead nowhere. Gently lips brushed Qui-Gon’s forehead, accompanied by a gently wash of warmth and love that set new tears sliding silently down his cheeks, and he curled into Ben’s embrace as he fell apart again.

 

* * *

 

For the next ten days, Ben was a steady presence in Qui-Gon’s life, and deep down, Qui-Gon was grateful. It was hard though; most mornings, even the prospect of getting out of bed felt impossible. All Qui-Gon wanted was to close his eyes, shut out the light and the Force and the memories and just _forget_ , until the pain in his heart was washed away. But Ben was there, with all his brilliant light, urging, and some mornings forcing, Qui-Gon to rise, shower, and eat. He stood unwaveringly through the bouts of rage that would sweep Qui-Gon up in their obsidian claws when he least expected it, and pulled him close and held him tight when they fled just as suddenly, leaving Qui-Gon shaking and horrified at himself.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, fingers tangled in Qui-Gon’s hair as he sobbed against Ben’s shoulder _again_. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

His words sounded like a promise, but Qui-Gon could not bring himself to believe them.

On the evening of the tenth day, something changed. Ben had trailed off mid conversation over dinner, his gaze going distant and unfocused. When he did not shake it off and pick up the train of his thoughts, Qui-Gon frowned and leaned across the table to touch his hand.

“Ben?”

Ben startled at the touch, jerking in his seat and unsecured objects in his vicinity jerk too. Then he stared at a patch of empty wall, confusion twisting his face. Then his expression cleared, the confusion vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. When he turned to face Qui-Gon, there was sorrow in his eyes, and Qui-Gon knew without having to ask what was coming next.

“You’re leaving,” he said quietly. Ben nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t want to but…I don’t think I have a choice.”

Qui-Gon was too tired to push for further information that he knew he would not get. He nodded, and raised his tea back to his lips.

“Qui-Gon…”

He looked up when Ben rose, moving to kneel beside Qui-Gon chair, and reach up to wrap his hands around Qui-Gon’s, still holding the mug. Qui-Gon glanced at him, and then looked away. Ben’s eyes were dark and sincere, and Qui-Gon couldn’t bring himself to look at them.

“I will come back.” Ben’s voice was determined, unshakable. “I will. This isn’t forever. I will come back to you.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. “I know.”

“Do you?” Ben asked, softly.

Qui-Gon could not find a response for that. Ben squeezed his hands again, and then slowly let go, rising back to his feet.

“It won’t be until the morning, I think,” he said, and held out his hand to Qui-Gon. “We still have some time.”

Qui-Gon frowned, searching Ben’s face, but there was no pity there. He hesitated a moment longer, and then reached out, taking Ben’s hands.

“Alright.”

           


	6. Fear of the Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon refused to take another Padawan. Yoda could meddle all he wanted, but Qui-Gon would. Not.
> 
> He would not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to Kristsune for the last minute beta read! <3

Ben came and went over the next few years just as he always had; without pattern or regularity. It soon became the only thing that made Qui-Gon return to the Temple. He could no longer stand being sheltered within the walls of his once-home. There was too much warmth, too much light that he did not deserve, too many memories of just how badly he had failed.

And then, of course, there was Yoda. Somehow, the nosy old troll who was Qui-Gon’s Grand Master had gotten it into his tiny green head that the best thing for Qui-Gon would be to take on another Padawan. Upon hearing this, Qui-Gon had laughed openly in the ancient Master’s face and then flat out refused, before spinning on his heel and stalking from the room. Of course, that was hardly enough to dissuade Master Yoda, and Qui-Gon begun spending even less time on Coruscant than he already was, in an effort to avoid Yoda’s meddling.

He would not, _could not_ , train another Padawan; that, Qui-Gon knew with utter certainty. Not after Xanatos. Not again. He had already lost one child to the Dark, he would not lose another.

And so, he withdrew. Micah and Tahl, Mace and Feemor, they all tried reaching out to him, only to be denied. Soon, the attempts began to vanish, aided on by Qui-Gon’s increasing frequent absences from the Temple.

Deep down, Qui-Gon knew he ought to care, but he couldn’t. Caring drew him too close to the memories, memories that remained sharp as a blade, no matter how much time passed.

And so, he drifted.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon snarled as the door to his quarters slide opened a moment before he reached it, for a moment wishing that the majority of the doors within the Temple were not automated. At that precise moment, slamming a door sounded like a wonderful idea, and far better than any of the other, incredibly tempting alternatives. Stalking into his quarters, Qui-Gon tossed his cloak blindly onto the sofa, paying no heed to where it landed or to the way his emotions were making the few remaining plants in the main room react, visibly shifting, pulling their leaves and branches away from where he stood.

“Well, you’re in quite the mood.”

Qui-Gon froze halfway to his bedroom at the calm voice. He had not even noticed another presence in the room, but thankfully it was not the voice of a stranger that reached his ears. Qui-Gon turned, eyes landing on the slight figure sitting at his kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of him and one elegant eyebrow raised.

“Ben!”

Ben smiled. “Hello Qui-Gon. What has you so on edge? I could feel it even before you walked in, and you’re scaring the plants.”

Qui-Gon’s frustration, momentarily abated by the sight of Ben, came roaring back to the surface, and he snarled, stalking past Ben and into the kitchen.

“ _Yoda_.”

“Yoda?” Ben’s voice floated up to Qui-Gon’s ears, calm and a little amused. “Not that I am doubting you, my love, but normally Yoda’s general meddling does not cause this level of…irritation.”

Irritation. _Hah_.

Qui-Gon grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it down, a bit too hard, on the counter-top. It made a _crack_ that echoed throughout the kitchen when it connected. With a measured breath, he forced himself to let go of the smooth ceramic, to drop his hands to his sides.

“He wants me to take on another Padawan,” he growled, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “He tricked me into attending today’s Apprentice Tournament.”

Silence greeted his words, silence that stretched, unbroken over the courses of seconds, then minutes. Frowning, Qui-Gon turned to look back to where Ben was sitting.

Ben was staring at him, but his eyes had widened and his gaze was distant and hollow. It felt more like he was staring _through_ Qui-Gon, rather than at him, staring at something only he could see.

“Ben?”

Ben blinked, seeming to come back to himself. He met Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“The Apprentice Tournament? That was today?”

Qui-Gon nodded, his frown warping back into a full-blown scowl as he turned back to his tea.

“Yes.”

“I see,” Ben murmured, and there were emotions in his voice that Qui-Gon could not identify. “So what happened?”

Qui-Gon scoffed, water sloshing out of the spout of the kettle when he set it down on the stove with a _thunk_. “What do you think? He wanted me to watch an Initiate, hoped I would train him. I refused.”

“Anyone I might know?” Ben asked.

Qui-Gon shrugged, picking up the tea tin from where Ben had left it on the counter. “Not unless the name Obi-Wan Kenobi means anything to you.”

At the sound of the boy’s name, the Force around Qui-Gon spiked, twisting and writhing in a way he had never felt before. It made his hand shake, the tea leaves he had been moving to the pot spilling onto the counter. Qui-Gon cursed and set down the spoon, busying himself with cleaning up the spilt tea. By the time he had finished, the odd disturbance had been forgotten, lost beneath the waves of his emotions and thoughts.

“So, was that all?”

Qui-Gon jumped, having all but forgotten about Ben’s presence, and turned back to face him once again.

“What do you mean?”

Ben set down his mug, but kept his hands wrapped around the smooth dish. His face was smooth, empty of emotion, and Qui-Gon felt a bit like he was back in front of the High Council, not talking to his lover in the safety of his own home.

“Was that all there was to it?” Ben asked. “You watched the fight, argued with Yoda, and left?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. Ben arched a brow, and Qui-Gon sighed. “I went to talk to the boy as well.”

“Why?”

It was a good question, even Qui-Gon had to admit that. Why had he gone to speak to the boy? Why had he not just left, once he had escaped Yoda’s gaze and grasp? The Force hummed in the back of his mind, offering up the obvious answer, but Qui-Gon shied away.

“I wanted to…question him.” Qui-Gon winced. Even he could not deny how bad that sounded. Clearly, Ben noticed too; he was staring at Qui-Gon, one eyebrow arched, his lips twisted into something that was not quite a smile. But when Qui-Gon said nothing else, Ben waved a hand.

“And?” he urged.

“And nothing.” Qui-Gon scowled, crossing his arms. “He was angry, vicious. Untrainable. He asked me to teach him. I refused.”

For a moment, Ben’s expression flickered, for only so long as it took to blink.

“So you will not train him? Even though he is about to be sent to the corps?”

“Going to the corps is hardly the end of all things. I will not train him.” Qui-Gon knew his voice was cold, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Why not?”

Qui-Gon tensed, angered sparking in him at Ben’s calm, almost emotionless tone, but under the anger there was a flare of hurt that struck right to his core. How could Ben ask that? How could _Ben_ , of all people, not know, not understand?!

“Because I can’t!” he snarled. Ben hardly even blinked, and Qui-Gon turned away, unable to keep looking at the man sitting at his table, hands folded carefully in front of him. Ben’s calm felt mocking, like a personal stab at Qui-Gon’s own turmoil.

“I can’t,” Qui-Gon said again, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I will not train another Padawan. I will not lead another child down the path of the Jedi, only to watch them turn to the Dark, and I will certainly not train him!”

For a moment, the room was silent around Qui-Gon but for the thud of his heartbeat and his own harsh breathing, both sounds as loud as thunder in his ears.

“Why not?”

Qui-Gon wanted to scream; in frustration, in exhaustion, he was not sure.

“He is too angry, too close to the Dark. He allowed himself to fight with anger, he even admitted to me that he did. He is too angry.”

“Like you are?”

Qui-Gon froze. Ben’s words had been soft but there was no hesitation. As if a veil had been pulled away, it struck Qui-Gon just how true they were. He was angry, Force he was furious. It sparked and cracked around him like a storm, even as it was quickly being smothered by a wave of panic. His words died on his tongue, his breath beginning to come too fast. Behind him, he heard Ben set down his mug once again and rise from his chair. One of his hands settled on Qui-Gon’s shoulder a moment later, light as a whisper but too heavy, too heavy. His other hand brushed down Qui-Gon’s arm.

“Deep breaths, Qui-Gon. I’ve got you.”

Qui-Gon followed the soft-spoken instructions without argument, drawing in a long, slow breath. He held it for a moment before letting it out. Ben’s hands rubbed gently up and down his arms, bringing soothing Force energy that felt like Ben with them, and Qui-Gon realized belatedly that he was shaking.

“I can’t do it,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes closed. Ben’s hands stilled and Qui-Gon felt them shift, Ben’s arms snaking around his waist.

“Why not, Qui-Gon?” Ben asked gently, and Qui-Gon could feel his warm breath against his ear. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Love. I just want to understand, and I think you need to understand too. Why can’t you train him?”

The questions were gentle, hardly more than whispers, but still Qui-Gon flinched, hesitating.

“I’m scared.”

Two words, but the whispered admission felt so much bigger than that. Ben’s embraced tightened, and Qui-Gon allowed himself to be pulled closer to Ben’s chest.

“I’m scared,” he whispered again. “Oh, Force, Ben, I’m terrified. I lost Xan, and it nearly killed me. I cannot…I cannot lose another. I can’t do it again. He’s too angry. He’s too much like Xan.”

“Is he?” Ben asked. His words were soft, but there was else, an edge Qui-Gon had never heard before and did not understand, that felt like old pain. “Or are you allowing your fear to blind you?”

“I…”

“He is a child, Qui-Gon.” Ben’s arms never loosened around Qui-Gon. “He’s a child, and he’s terrified. He’s about to lose everything; the only home he’s ever known, his family, everything that has ever made him who he is. He’s desperate.” Ben’s voice had risen as he spoke, taking on an almost urgent edge, but then he seemed to catch himself, and grew quiet once more. “He’s just as scared as you are, but for different reasons.”

Carefully, Ben guided Qui-Gon over to the couch and pulled him down so they were sitting side by side, knees touching. Reaching out, he took both of Qui-Gon’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently over Qui-Gon’s knuckles. Qui-Gon watched the movement, the repetitive back and forth slide of skin over skin, and avoided Ben’s eyes, because if he didn’t, Ben would see. Ben always saw too much, too easily, in Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon’s shields, the masks he wore, all were useless again Ben, even as the man kept so much of himself hidden from Qui-Gon’s own gaze.

“He’s almost thirteen, Qui-Gon,” Ben said softly, when the silence had stretched for too long. “He’ll age out soon. He’s so scared right now. Every second is another second closer to losing everything. He’s so scared, and he hates it, because we’re taught not to hate, not to fear, and not to get attached. But we can’t help but get attached, to our homes, to our friends. And he’s about to lose those. He’s a child, Qui-Gon, can you blame him for being scared?”

Qui-Gon stared at their hands. “You sound like you are speaking from experience,” he murmured.

Ben hesitated, his thumbs stilling on Qui-Gon’s knuckles. His hands went tense, and Qui-Gon glanced up to see his eyes had gone distant and sad. This time, it was Ben who refused to meet Qui-Gon’s gaze.

“I am.”

All the breath left Qui-Gon at the quiet admission.

“You? But how?” How could anyone, and Master or Knight, have looked at Ben, at the child he had been, and not seen his Light, his strength. He practically sang with the Force, so much so that Qui-Gon still did not know how he had missed it, their first night together.

Ben smiled, small and tired. “Me. I would have aged out, if not for Master Yoda’s meddling.”

Qui-Gon swallowed. “Ben, I―”

“Please, don’t.” Ben shook his head. “It is all in the past, Qui-Gon. I am who I am, and my past has shaped that, just as it shapes all things. I do not regret my apprenticeship, and I am not looking for pity or sympathy. My point is, do not let Xanatos’ failings poison your life. Do not let him steal your future from you too. Or at the very least, do not let it steal this boy’s. He is innocent in all of this. Do not punish him for crimes he has not, and might not, commit. Allow him his right to be judged for who he is, not for the actions of another.”

Ben paused, releasing one of Qui-Gon’s hands to stroke his beard absently for a moment before continuing.

“Yes, he is angry, and scared, and lacks control. But that’s why he needs you, Qui-Gon. He needs you to teach him, to guide him. He _needs_ you.”

“There are others. Other who could teach him, who would be better―” Qui-Gon tried, but was cut off when Ben shook his head sharply, the Force around them jerking as if in response.

“There is no one else, Qui-Gon.”

_“You are my last chance to be a Jedi Knight.”_

The boy’s voice had been strong, but it had shook with desperation. His hands had been tight fist at his sides. The Force had responded to his words, twisting around Qui-Gon like fingers, but he had shaken them off and turned his back.

Ben sighed, and pulled further away, making to stand. “I should leave you be,” he murmured. “You no doubt have much to think on, and I…” he trailed off, reluctance in every line of his frame.

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, intent on refuting, on asking Ben to stay, when the Force reacted again, more violently this time than any of the previous occurrences. It was like a clash of drums or the shrieking wail of metal being torn and wrenched. Qui-Gon grunted, cupping his head, as the Force repeated it’s crying, filling Qui-Gon with urgency that was not his own. It was almost overwhelming in its volume.

Qui-Gon was on his feet before he realized what he was doing.

“I need to―” he stuttered, snapping around to stare at Ben. Ben smiled back at him, and made a gentle shooing motion.

“Go on. Go find him.”

Qui-Gon nodded and turned, moving towards the door almost at a run.

“Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon stopped.

Footsteps came from behind him, and then Ben was standing in his field of vision, still smiling gently. He reached out and cupped Qui-Gon’s face, rubbing at the frown line at the side of Qui-Gon’s mouth.

“Do try not to terrify the boy?”

Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he nodded. “Of course.”

He opened his eyes. “Thank you, Ben,” he said.

Ben’s smile widened, and he leaned in, brushing his lips gently over Qui-Gon’s. “Go find your Padawan.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan sniffed, and scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his nose as surreptitiously as he could. He would _not_ cry, he told himself. He shifted his bags, hoisting them back into place on his shoulders. He might not have been accepted as a Padawan, but he would still maintain the composure of a Jedi, if it killed him.

Wiping his eyes once more, Obi-Wan straightened his shoulders and blinked away the few remaining tears that clung on as he continued on down the hallway. He needed to keep moving. The ship would hardly wait for him, the little-unwanted Initiate, and if he missed it, he wouldn’t be able to stay here. Even in his despair, Obi-Wan knew that a life as a farmer on Bandomeer was better than a life in Coruscant’s slums.

Maybe, he thought, maybe it would not be so bad. After all, he didn’t know what was waiting for him in the Agricorps, and while that was a terrifying thought, maybe he could keep up with his meditation. He would not be able to learn more about the Jedi arts, and he would not be allowed to keep his lightsaber, but perhaps he could―

Lost in his thoughts and trying to keep his despair at bay, Obi-Wan forgot to keep an eye on where he was going. This would not necessarily be a problem, as he knew the way well, but in his distraction he had stopped watching for other people.

And so, it would have been no surprise, if anyone had been paying him any attention, when Obi-Wan walked straight into something big and solid. Stumbling back, Obi-Wan dropped one of his bags in his attempt to save his footing. Before he could fall however, a hand came down and caught his shoulder.

“Easy there,” came a voice, a familiar, familiar voice. “My apologizes, Youngling, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Obi-Wan tensed, and stared down at his fallen bag. He recognized the voice, and he found he had to blink back new tears.

“It was my fault, Master Jinn.” To his horror, his voice came out as a whisper.

For a moment, the man said nothing. Then his hand vanished from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and there was the sound of shifting fabric.

“Initiate Kenobi?”

Jinn’s voice was softer, gentle even, and much closer to Obi-Wan’s face. Cautiously, Obi-Wan peeked up and met a pair of dark blue eyes. Jinn had kneeled down, right there in the middle of the hallway, and put himself at eye level with Obi-Wan. He seemed to search Obi-Wan’s face for a moment.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked, and Obi-Wan had to bite back sudden indignation. He stayed silent and dropped Jinn’s gaze to stare at his boots.

Jinn sighed. “I’m sorry, that was…” he paused, and to Obi-Wan’s surprise, he felt nervousness flowing from the man. Then Jinn cleared his throat. “Where are you going?”

Obi-Wan tried hard not the scowl at the floor, but he wasn’t sure if he had succeeded. “To the landing platform, Master Jinn.”

“Why?”

Obi-Wan’s vision blurred, and he scrubbed at his eyes quickly. He wished the Master would stop being cruel and just let him leave already!

“I already told you,” he heard himself snap. The words felt oddly foreign, like he was listening to someone else speak. “I told you! They’re sending me away!”

His hands clenched at his sides, and they were trembling.

To his surprise, Jinn sucked in a startled breath. “What?!” he demanded. “Why? I thought you were not yet thirteen.”

Obi-Wan felt his cheeks begin to burn with shame. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you being sent away?”

Obi-Wan could not answer that. He tried, but his throat closed up, and the words refused to form. He stayed silent and continued staring at the slightly blurry shape of Master Jinn’s boots. He wanted to shout, to yell “Because you didn’t want me!” But that wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t fully true either. It wasn’t Master Jinn’s fault he was being sent away; after all it wasn’t his fault Obi-Wan had not caught the notice of any other Master before, or his fault that Obi-Wan had gotten into that fight with Bruck. Obi-Wan’s anger drained from his in a single, sudden rush, and it left him feeling hollow and numb. It was his fault. He hadn’t been good enough. The Force was wrong, and Master Vant had been right. He wasn’t meant to be a Jedi. He had just been too stubborn to realize, and now the universe was making it very clear.

Dark spots appeared on Jinn’s boots. Warmth trickled down Obi-Wan’s cheeks, and to his horror, he heard a shaky sob, coming from his own lips. He squeezed his eyes closed and dropped the bag he was still holding, wrapping his arms around his waist. Another sob welled up in his chest.

And then, to Obi-Wan’s surprise, he was pulled close by a pair of strong arms and wrapped in a warm embrace that filled his nose with the scent of cloth and tea.

“I’m so sorry,” Jinn murmured, his voice like a rumble of thunder. Obi-Wan could feel the vibrations in his chest. “I’m so sorry, Youngling.”

Obi-Wan felt a large, calloused hand stroke his hair. He tried to fight it, to stop his tears and pull away, but it was too late. He curled into the embrace and cried.

 

* * *

 

When the boy’s tears began to fall, Qui-Gon had felt his heart crack in his chest. He could see it now, now that Ben’s had yelled some sense into him and helped him calm down. The Initiate was terrified, and desperately trying not to be.

‘This is my fault,’ Qui-Gon, reaching out to pull the boy into a gently embrace, that tightened when Obi-Wan pressed close against him. ‘I caused this.’

But why was he being sent away? Hadn’t he told Qui-Gon that he still had two weeks until his thirteenth birthday? Qui-Gon stroked the child’s hair and wondered. Something was not quite right here.

Finally, Obi-Wan grew quiet. Qui-Gon waited a few moments longer and then pulled away.

“Do you feel any better?”

Obi-Wan sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and then nodded. “Yes Master Jinn,” he whispered, cheeks flaming.

Qui-Gon smiled gently. “Good. There is no need to be embarrassed, Youngling. There is nothing shameful about crying.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, disbelief clear in his eyes. Qui-Gon chuckled.

“Alright, I suppose that’s fair. But believe me, even the best of us have our moments. I’m hardly the best, but even Master Windu―”

Obi-Wan shifted, looking from the bags on the ground, to the space over Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Qui-Gon frowned.

“Are you alright?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, and then whispered, “I’m sorry, Master Jinn. I don’t mean to be rude but I…I need to get to the landing platform.”

Qui-Gon blinked, and then realized. He had forgotten. It had been so easy, when he had felt the boy’s desperation, to fall back into the role he had so long ago sworn off, to reach out. But this boy was not his Padawan.

 _Not yet_ , the Force seemed to whisper.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and centered himself. For a moment, he considered the paths before him. He could step aside, let the boy keep walking, send him on to the Agricorps, and go on, his own life unchanged.

But no. He couldn’t do that, not now that he had met Obi-Wan, properly, without the indignant anger that had filled him when he realized Yoda had tricked him. Now that Xanatos’ shadow had been pushed away (not permanently, that would take time and energy he had not had before, but perhaps, now…) he could see how the Force glowed around the boy, how it sung and called out to Qui-Gon. It reminded him, in a way, of the first time he met Ben, the way the Force had just… _clicked_.

In front of him, Obi-Wan shifted, and Qui-Gon blinked. He had been thinking for too long.

Qui-Gon coughed, and cleared his throat.

“Initiate Kenobi?”

The boy blinked, refocusing on him. “Y-yes?”

“I…” Qui-Gon began, suddenly unsure. He hadn’t actually thought this far through things. He had hardly accepted that Ben might have a point, when the Force-born urgency had filled him and sent him running. And now, the moment was upon him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

He tried again. “Before…you asked me to train you. I…I owe you an apology, for my actions then.”

Obi-Wan stared him. Qui-Gon pushed on.

“I…I am a stubborn man,” he said. “I hold on to hurts and refuse to acknowledge them. And because of that, I judged you by the actions of another, and treated you unfairly. I have…someone has helped me…see that.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “What I am trying to say is…if you still want me…I would be honoured to take you as my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, eyes huge and shocked. Then his face went flat, though not quite blank. He was a Jedi child, it was true, but a child nevertheless, and while his control was impressive, it was not perfect. Qui-Gon could see the suspicion in the line of his mouth and the flick of his eyes. Finally, the boy spoke.

“The Council has already decided I am to go to the Agricorps.”

“Is that what you want?” Qui-Gon asked, trying to keep his voice gentle. Obi-Wan had every right not to believe him, not to trust his word, after how Qui-Gon had behaved.

Obi-Wan swallowed and lifted his chin. “What I want had no bearing on the situation. The Council―”

“I do not care what the Council wants, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon said. “I asked what you want. You, Obi-Wan Kenobi. If you wish to go to the Agricorps, which is hardly an unimportant job, then I will not stand in your way. But, if you would like to stay here, learn the ways of the Jedi, then I will teach you, or find another to do so, if that is what you would prefer.”

Obi-Wan gaped at him. Qui-Gon smiled.

“Well?” he urged. “You can tell me the truth, young one. I promise, I will not hold your answer against you, whatever it might be.”

Obi-Wan continued to stare, and Qui-Gon could practically see his mind working. Finally, he opened his mouth and whispered, “I want to be a Jedi. I…I want to be your student.” His voice shook, but his words were clear and sure.

Qui-Gon’s smile crept across his face without any conscious thought or intent. He bowed his head to the boy, still kneeling in front of him in the middle of the hallway. “You honour me, Padawan. Thank you for this chance.”

Then, he straightened and held out his arms, and a few moments later, he had an armful of new Padawan.

 

* * *

 

“These are my quarters. Well, our quarters now.”

Qui-Gon opened the door and gestured Obi-Wan in. The boy walked in slowly, hoisting the bags that contained all his belongings further onto his shoulders. He had been quite for most of the walk.

Qui-Gon hesitated, suddenly nervous.

“I’m sorry it’s rather messy. This was…very sudden.”

“Master?”

Qui-Gon startled out of his nervous thoughts, and glanced down at his new student. “Yes, Obi-Wan?”

The boy hesitated, chewing nervously on his lip. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet.

“Do you really want to teach me?”

Qui-Gon’s heart clenched. Carefully, he closed the door and knelt down, putting himself one again at eye level with Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan, I know I did not do things well. I’ve already made mistakes. But I hope you can believe me when I say, I do want to train you. I…I am a remarkably stubborn man, it just took a bit of prodding for me to get my head on straight.”

The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. Qui-Gon was glad to see it. He smiled back, hoping the expression came across as gentle. He suddenly felt very out of practice with gentle.

“I do want to train you, Obi-Wan,” he went on. “I can’t promise I will be perfect, but I want to…I want to do my best. I want to see the Knight you will become, if you will allow it.”

As he finished, he focused back on the face on the child in front of him. Obi-Wan was smiling properly now, though it was still shy and a little restrained.

“Okay.”

“Padawan?”

Obi-Wan bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment, seeming to deliberate. Then he darted forward and hugged Qui-Gon, faster than he had before, out in the hallways.

Qui-Gon laughed softly and ruffled a hand through his Padawan’s short hair.

“We shall deal with the Council tomorrow, and get everything officialised,” Qui-Gon said. He felt Obi-Wan nod against his chest, and then pull away.

“Alright.”

Standing up, Qui-Gon smiled down at Obi-Wan.

“Come on, I’ll show you your room. It probably need a bit of airing out, but we can start getting you settled.”

Then, a thought struck him, and Qui-Gon looked around the room. It was empty, and when he reached out into the Force, he could only sense Obi-Wan and himself. He smiled at the empty air, a little sadly. He was, however, unsurprised. His eyes landed on the kitchen table, and the slip of flimsi-plast sitting there, the corner hidden under an empty tea mug.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Master?”

Qui-Gon gently turned the boy by his shoulder and gestured towards the closed door of the Padawan room.

“That is your room there. If you would like, you can go get started, and I will join you in a moment.”

Obi-Wan frowned up at him. “Is something wrong?”

Qui-Gon smiled and shook his head. “No, nothing is wrong. I just need to read this.”

Obi-Wan followed his gaze to the flimsi and the cup. Qui-Gon felt his curiosity flicker across to him in the Force, and blinked. It was thin and only just there, but there it still was; the slender start of a training bond.

 _Oh_.

Qui-Gon sent a wave of reassurance back down the link, and the usage strengthen it. “You can wait for me, if you would prefer,” he added gently.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Alright,” Qui-Gon said, and walked over to the table. He picked up the note.

 

**Qui-Gon,**

**I’m sorry for leaving without a word. It’s been a while since I’ve left you a note like this, hasn’t it?**  
**I hope things have gone well.**  
**I believe in you, Qui-Gon. Remember that. You _can_ train him, and you can train him well.**  
**Just remember, communication. And try not to scare him too much, hm?**

**I love you.**

**Ben**

 

Qui-Gon sighed and smiled, and placed the flimsi back down on the table. Ben’s words filled his chest with warmth, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost hear them in his mind, Ben’s familiar, crisp voice full of a gentle humor and love.

Love.

Qui-Gon’s smile widened.

 _I love you too, you ridiculous man,_ he thought.

Then, he exhaled, and turned back to Obi-Wan, his new Padawan.

“Alright, Youngling. Ready to see your new room?”

Obi-Wan’s grin was bright, and somewhere in the back of Qui-Gon’s mind, oddly familiar.

“Yes, Master Jinn!”


	7. Anakin Comes Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half-way through a mission gone...somewhat wrong, Qui-Gon runs into the absolute last people he expected to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half way there!!!

_Padawan?_

 

_I’m alright, Master._

 

Qui-Gon let out a relieved breath, skidding to a halt before yet another corridor in the increasingly maze-like fortress of the Kalen VII judiciary palace. He paused, peering around the wall and reached out with the Force. His way was clear, at least for the moment. He’d lost the armed guards pursuing him some way back, but he knew they would catch up if he lingered too long.

 

_Are you hurt, Obi-Wan?_

 

 _I already said I’m alright,_ Obi-Wan replied. The boy’s mental voice was amused, and Qui-Gon spared another moment to mourn the sixteen-year old’s utter lack of self-preservation instinct.

 

 _Your ‘alright’ could mean anything from unharmed but exhausted to bleeding out._ He replied.

 

A mental sigh. _I am unharmed, Master._ There was a beat, a moment of hesitation. _Though, given the way the guards keep eyeing me, that might be changing soon. Hurry?_

 

_I’m on my way._

 

Qui-Gon was moving again, before he had even finished the thought. Concern was bubbling anew in his chest at the thought of his Padawan being hurt.

 

This was probably why he did not noticed the approach of other beings. Turning the corner blindly, Qui-Gon ran head-long into another body, already moving with enough speed to knock them both off their feet.

 

“Oof!”

 

“Kriff!”

 

Startled, Qui-Gon stared down at the man he had landed on. Pale skin, messy brown hair, and startled blue eyes; he looked nothing like his avian pursuers.

 

“Anakin?!”

 

Qui-Gon’s head snapped up at the familiar but completely unexpected voice, just as Ben Lars appeared out of a nearby door. When his eyes fell on Qui-Gon and the other man— Anakin, Qui-Gon assumed— he faltered, looking just as, if not more bewildered than Qui-Gon felt.

 

“Ben?”

 

Qui-Gon scrambled to his feet, offering the younger man a hand up as he did so. The man took it, still staring at Qui-Gon with wide eyes. Once he was upright, he darted over to Ben’s side.

 

“O—”

 

“Qui-Gon!” Ben interrupted, voice noticeably abrupt and loud. “What are you doing here?”

 

Anakin stared at Ben, his face a mask of intense confusion.

 

“My Padawan and I are...were trying to broker an agreement for Kalen VII to join the Republic,” Qui-Gon explained, smoothing his tunics. “It went...south. But Ben,” he frowned at the two men before him, “What in the Force are you doing here? The Council didn’t tell me another team would be joining us.”

 

Ben shot a glance at Anakin, who was scowling now. “We weren’t meant to be here,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “But _someone_ crashed our ship. Again.”

 

Anakin’s scowl deepened. “That only because—” he started, but snapped his mouth closed at a pointed look from Ben.

 

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. “That is...quite the coincidence.”

 

Ben turned his gaze back to Qui-Gon and gave a tiny smile. “It is, isn’t it? But tell me, where were you off to in such a hurry? And where is your Padawan?”

 

Qui-Gon shook his head, and then glanced over his shoulder. “As I said, things took a turn for the worse. Obi-Wan was grabbed as...leverage, I suppose. I’m on my way to retrieve him now.”

 

Anakin was giving Ben an increasingly odd set of looks, which the older Jedi was pointedly ignoring, but at Qui-Gon’s words, the younger man’s attention was caught.

 

“O— your Padawan was captured?! We’ve got to get him back!”

 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the man’s passion. “You must be the former Padawan, yes? Ben’s told me a lot about you.”

 

Anakin nodded, but Qui-Gon got the sense he had not really processed the words. He was already turning back to Ben, whose face had gone carefully neutral.

 

“Ben, we have to help!”

 

“Anakin, we need—”

 

“So you’d just leave him?!”

 

“That’s not—” Ben’s sighed, and Qui-Gon felt the subtle shift in the Force as they picked up a mental conversation. He shifted, glancing over his shoulder again and touched the Force. Still clear, but he needed to move, and soon.

 

“Alright.”

 

It came out as a sigh, full of barely masked exasperation and no small amount of exhaustion, and Qui-Gon met Ben’s eyes with a frown. There is something in the other man’s eyes that he didn’t recognize, some sort of guarded tension. But Ben did not seem about to elaborate, and Qui-Gon could feel the determination of both men solidifying in the Force around them.

 

“We would help you, Qui-Gon, if you would have us,” Ben said.

 

Qui-Gon smiled at him, nodded.

 

“I would. Thank you both.”

 

* * *

 

Ben fell into step with Qui-Gon like he’d been doing it for years. It startled Qui-Gon to realize that, despite all their encounters over the years, this was the first time one such encounter had occurred outside of the Temple, since that first meeting so long ago.

 

Ben was, as in all things, entrancing. He moved with a fluid grace that was almost feline, steady and calm, and his gaze was sharp and alert. On Ben’s other side, Anakin walked with the surety and confidence of someone whose strength was unchallenged, and knew it. And he _was_ strong. Qui-Gon could feel it in the air around them. The young Knight was practically vibrating in the Force, and he was shielding heavily. His shields were chaotic, messy things, but incredibly strong. Natural shielding, Qui-Gon realized in awe, they were his natural shields; vibrate red-gold tangles, thrumming and pulsing, shot through with cool blue-green strands of Ben’s Force presence, helping to stabilize the entire thing. It was incredible, and unlike anything Qui-Gon have ever seen. The raw power that filled Anakin was almost terrifying in magnitude, but if he focused, Qui-Gon could see more of Ben’s influence, steady and unbending. Ben’s former student was incredible, and it only furthered Qui-Gon’s awe for the man himself. To train someone as powerful as Anakin must have been a daunting task, and one Qui-Gon could not imagine he would have risen to. He still remembered all too well the panic that had swamped him at the initial idea of training Obi-Wan and his ferociously brilliant light.

 

“Qui-Gon?”

 

Qui-Gon blinked, and looked up. Ben and Anakin stood a few paces ahead of him, Anakin frowning in confusion, Ben with concern.

 

“Is something wrong?” Ben asked.

 

“Is Obi-Wan alright?” Anakin demanded.

 

On instinct, Qui-Gon reached out to touch the training bond that connected him to his Padawan. Obi-Wan responded with a vague feeling Qui-Gon translated as ‘All clear’. He shook his head.

 

“No, no, Obi-Wan is fine. It’s nothing.” He began walking again, striding past the other two. “Come on, it’s not far now.”

 

Anakin and Ben exchanged a glance, but neither commented as they began to walk again as well, but Qui-Gon could feel the start on another silent conversation as they turned yet another corner.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ben asked a few minutes later, low near Qui-Gon’s ear, suddenly much closer than Qui-Gon had realized. Qui-Gon suppressed his jump, and nodded quickly.

 

“It was just wandering thoughts,” he murmured. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

* * *

 

It did not take them long to find the cells. The prison consisted of a row of doors stretching down a blank stone wall that led seemingly straight out into empty air. The Kalen prison cells were behind the doors; large cages, attached to the rock and made of wire that seemed far too thin to support the weight of one of the hollow-boned natives, let alone a human adolescent.

 

Obi-Wan sitting in the center of his cage when they found him, legs folded under him in a meditation pose, eyes closed, and crumpled forms of two guards on the opposite side of the barred door. Qui-Gon eyed the two unconscious figures sprawled on the floor and then looked to his apprentice, one eyebrow raised.

 

“They were trying to get handsy.” Obi-Wan said mildly, not opening his eyes. He had, Qui-Gon noticed, carefully balanced his weight in the center of the cage, and his breathing was carefully steady.

 

“I see. Well done, Padawan.” Qui-Gon allowed himself a smile of relief. Obi-Wan cracked open one eye to grin back at him, as Qui-Gon set to work on the lock.

 

The Force was with them, and Qui-Gon was able to get Obi-Wan out of the cage and back on solid ground without any complications. After giving his Padawan a less than subtle once over to abate any lingering concerns of injury, Qui-Gon nodded, satisfied, and straightened, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes.

 

“We have acquired some extra assistance.”

 

Obi-Wan looked up from where he had been double checking the lightsaber Qui-Gon had returned to him, dropped during the scuffle, surprise on his face. “Oh? More strays?”

 

Qui-Gon chuckled, and ruffled the young man’s hair fondly. “Brat. No, they are Jedi, and one is...an old friend. Their ship crashed unexpectedly, and so they offered their services to help retrieve you.”

 

“I see.” Obi-Wan clipped his saber to his belt, tugging gently to check its security. “Where are they?”

 

“Watching our exit. Ready to leave, Padawan?”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, straightening. “Yes, Master. I believe this is a conflict best resolved another day.”

 

Qui-Gon nodded his agreement and turned, striding towards the door. Obi-Wan easily fell into step a pace behind him, much like Ben had done.

 

Ben and Anakin were waiting at the exit Qui-Gon had found. Somehow, in the time Qui-Gon had been gone, Anakin had managed to commandeer a pair of speeders. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at the vehicles, and Ben shook his head, a fond smile curling his lips. “Best not to ask.”

 

Anakin shot his former Master a half-hearted glare. “You make it sound like I killed someone for them. It’s hardly my fault if someone just leaves a couple speeders laying around.”

 

“You picked two locks to get them.” Ben pointed out, amusement clear behind the layer of disapproval that Qui-Gon was pretty sure was just there for show.

 

Anakin waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Are you going to get in, or just keep complaining? I thought the goal was to get out of this place.”

 

 _Are we sure they are Jedi, Master?_ Obi-Wan sent, and Qui-Gon bit back a snort.

 

_Yes, Padawan, I’m sure._

 

“Anakin is right. We should be going,” he said, striding forwards. Obi-Wan stayed close at his side as he moved, and Qui-Gon could not help but be grateful for it. He was not interested in losing the boy a second time that day.

 

Anakin made a triumphant noise that had Ben rolling his eyes, but they both followed suit, climbing onto one speeder while Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan took the other.

 

The landscape of Kalen VII was made up of smooth, rolling hills of muted greys, browns, and violets. Speckled across were tiny bunches of trees and rocky outcropping.

 

They set down in tiny clearing Anakin directed them to, in one of the larger patches of trees.

 

“Our ships a few clicks that way,” Anakin said, dismounting for the speeder with well-practiced ease. He gave the two speeders a once over, as the other men dismounted. Ben, Qui-Gon noticed, was looking a little green, as he gingerly eased himself off the bike.  


“Are you alright?” he asked, offering the other Master a steadying hand on his shoulder. Ben nodded, smiling gratefully at Qui-Gon.

 

“I don’t like flying much,” he explained. “And Anakin is…quite the pilot.”

 

“Whine whine,” Anakin groused, not looking up from where he had apparently begun to take his and Ben’s speeder apart.

             

Ben smiled fondly at the younger man. Pulling away from Qui-Gon’s hand, he smoothed down his robes and asked, “How are we looking, Anakin?”

 

Anakin sat back on his heel, humming under his breath for a moment. “Pretty good, I think. I should be able to get most of the parts we need from this.” He looked over at Qui-Gon. “Do you two need the speeder to get back to your ship?”

 

Qui-Gon looked around, and then shook his head. “I believe we are also not far from ours.”

 

Obi-Wan followed his gaze, and then nodded. “I think it’s just over that ridge, Master. Should I go get it?”

 

Qui-Gon hummed, and reached out to touch the Force. No alarm bells went off. “Yes, Padawan, thank you, that would be a good idea.”

 

“Hang on.” Anakin looked up from his steadily growing pile of parts. “Let me finish up here, and I’ll come with you. You mentioned you were having engine troubles, didn’t you, kid?”

 

With a quick glance at Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan nodded.

 

“I suppose that leaves us to hold down the fort,” Ben mused. When Qui-Gon looked his way, there was an amused light in his eyes.

 

“I suppose it does,” he murmured. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw Ben smirk.

 

Soon, Anakin stood up, wiping his grease-stained hands on his tabards. Qui-Gon noticed Ben wince at the motion. Ah, so that was the explanation for the dark clothes the younger Knight wore. He bit back a laugh.

 

“Alright,” Anakin said, striding over to where Obi-Wan stood at Qui-Gon’s side. “All good. Let’s go get your ship.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, most of his hesitation gone, replaced by evident curiosity at this strange Jedi.

 

“This way, Master Skywalker.”

 

Qui-Gon watched his Padawan lead the Knight off into the trees. He moved with a confidence that had not been present, three years earlier. It filled Qui-Gon with a warm pride, to see how well his Padawan had grown and overcome the challenges life had thrown at him, including those of Qui-Gon himself.

 

“You’re smiling,” Ben said, coming up behind Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon chuckled and turned, wrapping his arms loosely around Ben’s waist.

 

“Am I?”

 

“Mmhm.”

 

Qui-Gon’s smile grew. “I’m proud of him. He’s grown so much.”

 

Ben smiled back. “I’m glad. He seems happy, and you’re happier too.”

 

“I am.” Qui-Gon replied. It was true, he was. It had been a slow process, but he was happy, and Ben was not the first to notice.

 

“Now then,” Qui-Gon murmured, tugging Ben close and resting their foreheads together. “What are you really doing here?”

 

Ben gave him a small, lopsided smile. “Mission gone wrong.”

 

“Will I ever get a straight answer from you?” Qui-Gon asked, brushing his knuckles over Ben’s cheek. Ben smiled at him, a proper, honest smile this time, though it was tinged with sadness.

 

“One day. I promise.”

 

“Will you at least tell me your real name? I know it’s not Ben.”

 

Ben sighed, and when he shook his head, there was honest grief in his eyes. “I will, but not now. I can’t risk it.” He glanced towards the trees, where Anakin and Obi-Wan had vanished. “I’m putting enough in jeopardy as is. But one day.”

 

Qui-Gon nodded, not all that surprised any more. “Alright. I will hold you to your word, Master Lars.”

 

He cupped Ben’s cheek, smiling when the other man leaned into the touch. “I’m glad you were here, regardless. Thank you for your help.”

 

“I have no doubt you would have been fine without us,” Ben murmured,

 

Qui-Gon hummed noncommittally and kissed him. Ben did not hesitate to kiss him back. Force, but Qui-Gon had missed him. He made a soft noise, as warmth spilled through him, all the way to his toes. Ben hummed, pressing closer. One of his hands slid into Qui-Gon’s hair, cupping the back of his head. Sliding a hand to the small of his back, Qui-Gon brought his other hand up, tangling his fingers in the short hair at the nape of Ben’s neck.

 

“Master, the ship is— oh!”

 

“Hey Ben are you— what are you doing?!”

 

Pulling away, Qui-Gon turned his head, looking over his shoulder to see Obi-Wan standing at the bottom of the ramp, staring at them with huge eyes. Beside him, Anakin was openly gaping.

 

“I— what— were you two just kissing?!” The Knight spluttered. Distantly, Qui-Gon wondered just how in the Force they had missed the sound of the ship’s approach and landing. He resisted the urge to groan in disappointment.

 

Ben sighed and slowly freed himself from Qui-Gon’s arms. “Anakin—”

 

“Ben!” Anakin’s eyes were huge, and there was an almost panic in his face that Qui-Gon didn’t understand. “The Code! And—”

 

“Anakin.” Ben’s voice was calm, even soothing, but his tone offered no room for argument. “That’s enough. Calm down.”

 

Anakin fell silent, but he was still frowning. Ben turned to Qui-Gon, apology written across his face. “Will you give us a moment?”

 

Qui-Gon nodded, and Ben caught Anakin’s arm, guiding him away a short distance, taking them just out of earshot. Qui-Gon watched them for a moment, before turning to his Padawan.

 

“Obi-Wan?”

 

Obi-Wan blinked, a light blush flooding his cheeks. “I— I’m sorry, Master! I—”

 

Qui-Gon stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Obi-Wan. But tell me, what’s on your mind?”

 

Obi-Wan hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Finally he asked, “The Code?”

 

Qui-Gon sighed, smiling at him. “The Code forbids attachments. It does not forbid love.”

 

Obi-Wan frowned at him, the familiar frown that meant he saw through Qui-Gon’s obscure answer and did not appreciate it. “Love is an attachment, Master. You are arguing semantics.”

 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, a grin pulling at his lips despite himself. “Am I?”

 

Obi-Wan nodded.

 

“Hm. Well then, we have a problem, don’t we?” At Obi-Wan’s deepened frown, Qui-Gon elaborated. “You care about your friends, don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do.”

 

“Is that not a form of love?” When Obi-Wan did not reply, Qui-Gon continued, “And what about compassion? For the people we help, for our fellow Jedi? Is that not love as well?”

 

“That is different,” Obi-Wan argued. “That is not selfish love. It isn’t love for an individual. It isn’t attachment.”

 

“Is that the only difference?”

 

Obi-Wan blinked. “I—...I think so?”

 

Qui-Gon smiled, ruffling his student’s hair. “Meditate on this conversation, and on love and attachment, on the trip home. Then we will discuss this further once we return to the Temple.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, and Qui-Gon could see the stubborn spark in his eyes, the hint of a scowl on at the corner of his lips. “Yes, Master.”

 

“Well said.”

 

Qui-Gon turned. Ben and Anakin had returned, rejoining them without being noticed. Anakin appeared mollified, if only for the moment, and Ben was as calm as ever, a tiny smile on his lips.

 

“Is all well?” Qui-Gon asked. He wanted to reach out and take Ben’s hand in his own, pull him in for another kiss, but he held back. Now was perhaps not the best time for such things, not if Anakin’s earlier reaction was anything to go off of, and he should probably not be flaunting the Code quite so openly in front of his student. Despite his own beliefs and what he had just told Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon was fully aware that this thing he and Ben had, whatever it was, was not on par with the Code. He may not know Ben’s exact feelings, but Qui-Gon was not so blind to his own feelings that he didn’t know just how attached he had become to the enigma of a man who stood before him.

 

Ben nodded. Then his smile vanished. “It is. But I’m afraid this is where we have to leave you.”

 

Qui-Gon blinked. Beside him, Obi-Wan frowned, looking between his Master and the two strangers. Qui-Gon could feel his Padawan’s confusion, and no small amount of concern for Qui-Gon himself. Holding back a sigh, he sent Obi-Wan a gentle wave of reassurance.

 

“Now?” he asked.

 

Ben nodded, folding his arms behind his back. “Yes. Anakin managed to strip the speeders for the parts we need. Our ship will be back in...mostly working order as soon as he finishes.”

 

“I see.” Qui-Gon’s words were calm, but Ben knew him better than that, and his eyes were sad.

 

“I am sorry, Qui-Gon.”

 

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Don’t be. We go where the Force wills it. It was good to see you again today, Ben. And to finally meet you, Knight Skywalker,” he said, nodding to the Knight in question.

 

Anakin smiled at him, almost shy for a moment, before his eyes slid to Ben. Following suit, Qui-Gon turned his gaze back to the Master.

 

Ben’s mouth was set in an exasperated line, one eyebrow raised. Before Qui-Gon could ask what was wrong, he huffed. “Qui-Gon Jinn, sometimes I swear…”

 

Letting his words trail off, Ben reached forwards, using the Force to catch the front of Qui-Gon’s tunics and tug him into reaching distance, and then closer, until they were nose to nose.

 

Qui-Gon blinked, startled, and Ben smiled.

 

“I’ll miss you,” he whispered.

 

Qui-Gon blinked once more, and then gave a quiet laugh. “And I you. Safe travels, Ben.”

 

Ben’s smile grew. “Always.”

 

Qui-Gon’s disbelieving snort was cut short by the press of Ben’s lips against his own, but he was not complaining. He kissed back, settling a hand on Ben’s hip to pull him take much closer, his free hand moving to cup the back of Ben’s neck once again. He could feel Ben’s fingers slide back into his hair, and had to bite back a groan at the gentle press of teeth against his lower lip. That was _not_ something his Padawan needed to hear.

 

From somewhere behind him, Qui-Gon heard someone make an exaggerated gagging noise. It was followed by a snort and muffled laughed. Ben sighed against his lips, but when Qui-Gon’s opened his eyes, Ben’s were sparkling with humor.

 

They pulled apart slowly. Qui-Gon was loathed to lose Ben’s touch, and Ben didn’t seem much more willing, but they both knew they had to eventually. When they were finally separated, Qui-Gon turned.

 

Anakin was looking incredibly smug, but also a little petulant. Beside him, Obi-Wan was biting his lip, visibly holding back his laughter, his eyes dancing in a way remarkably similar to Ben’s.

 

“You quite finished there, Master?” Anakin teased, sounding oh so incredibly long-suffering. Ben arched a brow, and Qui-Gon could almost hear the “challenge accepted”.

 

“I don’t know, Padawan. Perhaps I ought to try again and find out.”

 

“I can’t say I would protest,” Qui-Gon chimed in, grinning when Obi-Wan’s laughter finally got the better of him. The Padawan covered his face with both hands, though it did little to muffle the noise.

 

“Please, Master, not again,” he begged, still laughing. “I think I finally understand what those hollonet shows mean, about watching your parents kiss.”

 

Anakin let out a startled bark of laughter, and Ben made an odd choking sound. At Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s concerned looks, he waved a hand. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. But,” he said, sobering and straightening up, “We really do need to be going now.”

 

Anakin nodded. “Alright. Master Jinn. Padawan Kenobi.” He turned, bowing to them both, Ben following suit. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan repeated the gesture.

 

“May the Force be with you both,” Qui-Gon said, straightening. Ben smiled, and Qui-Gon felt a phantom hand squeeze his own.

 

“And with you.”

 

Then, he turned and began to walk off, heading towards a small glade of trees near where the landscape shifted and stretched with the hills. Anakin fell into step at his side, and as they walked away, Qui-Gon could hear Anakin’s voice, drifting back.

 

“So...I think I have something I need to tell you, Master.”

 

“Oh?”

  
“Yeah. It’s about Padme…”

 

A chuckle. “I thought it might.”

 

This was followed by a pause, and then Anakin could be heard once again, softer, but clearly indignant; “And don’t think this means you’re getting out of that explanation! Is this where―”

 

The two voices finally faded out of hearing. Qui-Gon chuckled and turned to Obi-Wan.

 

“Well then, Padawan. I think we have perhaps done all we can here. Shall we take our lead, before your absence in the cells is noticed?”

 

Obi-Wan frowned a little in the direction Ben and Anakin had vanished, but he nodded.

 

“Yes Master.”

 

The boy hesitated, then smiled up at Qui-Gon. “I think I’ve had more than enough adventure for the day,” he said.

 

Qui-Gon laughed, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I think I agree, Obi-Wan. I think I agree.”


	8. The First Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace is shattered, and a new, startling revelation comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter contains mentions of off screen/past torture, and a scene involving a panic attack because of that previous torture. There is nothing graphic that happens within the chapter itself but it is referenced as a central driving point for the plot of this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> Wow. Okay so this chapter REALLY got away from me. It turned out almost nothing like I had originally planned. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> (Unbeta'd, all mistakes are on me, and I'm tired.)

It all began with a remarkably quiet day for the Master-Padawan duo of Jinn and Kenobi. After finally returning to the Temple on Coruscant after four consecutive missions, Qui-Gon had finally put his foot down and demanded a break. Obi-Wan was being run ragged, despite the newly eighteen-year old’s protests to the contrary, and even Qui-Gon was beginning to tire. The healers had backed up his insistence, and the Council had been left with no other choice in the matter but to grant the pair a month’s leave from active duty, for them to rest and for Obi-Wan to continue finishing up his required class work.

It was late in the day, the afternoon just beginning to fade into evening. Qui-Gon was in the kitchen, finishing up the few dishes that had been abandoned on the counter after their mid-day meal. Qui-Gon had always been fond of the layout his quarters; the way the kitchen was set, he could hold a conversation with anyone in the main room from there, and if he turned his head from the sink now, he could see his Padawan, sprawled out across the sofa and scowling at a datapad like it had personally insulted him.

No longer a child anywhere but in Qui-Gon’s own mind, Obi-Wan had finally grown into his body and the extra length his limbs had gained after his last growth spurt. Long gone was the gangly frame and the constant tripping over feet that were bigger than the mind remembered (a situation Qui-Gon remember far too well). Even just as he was in the moment, sitting and unaware of anything beyond the equations that had so irritated, Obi-Wan looked more at ease in his own body.

Qui-Gon smiled, turning his gaze back to the task at hand. He could still remember the caution with which Obi-Wan had moved through their home, those first few months. Qui-Gon had tried his best, working to keep from sinking back into the haze that had consumed him after Xanatos, if only to make things easier for the child he was coming to truly care for. It had hardly been easy, and he still had his days, even now, where the haze grew too thick and Qui-Gon simply could not find the energy to fight it back. But somewhere along the line, they had worked out a balance, he and Obi-Wan. Under the watchful gazes of Tahl and Micah, Qui-Gon had sat down with his newest Padawan and told him about Xanatos. It had been slow, halting, and he doubted he would have done it without his two oldest friends there to stop him from fleeing, but it had happened. Obi-Wan had sat quietly throughout, listening with wide eyes as they had helped Qui-Gon to explain the events of Xanatos’ Fall and, hardest of all, the effects they had left behind. When they had finally finished, Obi-Wan had been quiet for a moment, and then asked the last question Qui-Gon had expected to hear (Though, looking back, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Obi-Wan had always been the better one of them both.).

“How do I help?”

And so, they had worked through it together, establishing things Obi-Wan could do to help Qui-Gon, after much insistence from Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan not allow Qui-Gon’s own issues to overshadow his own―Obi-Wan was child, and Qui-Gon’s student. He would not see another child falter or fall, especially under the weight of Qui-Gon’s own past failings. They created guidelines, for when to offer help, when to seek out Micah or Tahl, and when to simply leave him be. Of course, it had not been perfect, and they had had their fair share of disagreements and rough patches, but by now, Qui-Gon found Obi-Wan could read him nearly as well as Tahl, and he liked to think he was learning to know his Padawan in kind.

Ben had been right; Obi-Wan had become one of the brightest lights in Qui-Gon’s life, and he thanked the Force every day that Ben had been there to keep Qui-Gon from actively losing his chance to offer Obi-Wan the place with the Jedi that he so completely deserved.

“You’re getting wistful and mushy, Master.”

Qui-Gon blinked down at the thin layer of suds that floated on the surface of the now cooling water in the sink, coming back to himself at the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice from the other room. He looked over his shoulder, to where Obi-Wan was looking at him upside down, his head lolling over the arm of the sofa in a way that could hardly be comfortable, padd laying screen down on his chest.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Padawan,” Qui-Gon sniffed, and then stifled a laugh when Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, still upside down and quite the sight; face going red as the blood rush to his head and hair hanging in floppy spike that pointed at the ground. He was starting to get shaggy.

“Master Qui-Gon, you were radiating enough wistful fluff to heat my tea,” Obi-Wan informed him, pointing a foot at the half-empty mug of tea where it sat, stone cold and forgotten until that moment, on the low table.

Qui-Gon laughed, grin slipping loose. “Careful Padawan. All the blood in your head must be affecting your perception. Next thing you know, whatever has you so irritated will be next.”

Obi-Wan heaved the heavy sigh of the pitiful and put-upon, and pulled himself up the right way on the sofa. “I don’t know if it’s me or this damn author, but these theories in temporal physics make no sense, no matter how I look at them,” he groaned.

“Ah, yes, I remember those,” Qui-Gon smiled, turning back to the sink. “Let me finish up here, and then we can see if we can’t make them make more sense, shall we?”

Obi-Wan’s only response was a groan, and Qui-Gon laughed, before they both lapsed into a content silence.

Across the room, the doorchime rang. Qui-Gon frowned and checked the time on the wall chrono. “Odd, I thought Mace canceled our sparring for today.” He glanced over his shoulder, still up to his elbows in soapy water. “Get that, will you, Obi-Wan?”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan set down his pad and hopped off the couch, eagerly seizing upon the brief escape from his class work, and dashed from the room before Qui-Gon could change his mind.

Qui-Gon chuckled as he turned his attention back to the dishes. That boy. Sometimes he wondered—

A flare of panic through the training bond brought Qui-Gon’s thoughts to a screeching halt. Only seconds later, Obi-Wan’s panicked voice filled the room.

“MASTER!”

Qui-Gon swore, dropping the plate he held back into the sink, ignoring the way it made water splash across the counter. He turned, striding into the main room as fast as his legs would allow, absently drying his hands on the front of his robes as he moved.

“Obi-Wan, what—”

For a split second, Qui-Gon froze, taking in the scene before him. Obi-Wan stood by the door, which had slid closed once again, and was supporting a slumped, ashen, and far too familiar form.

“Ben!”

Qui-Gon rushed forwards. Obi-Wan’s eyes were huge, but he was remarkably calm, given the situation at hand, and when he spoke, his voice was steady.

“I opened the door, and he just fell, Master! He’s bleeding!”

Carefully, Qui-Gon took the man from his Padawan’s arms. As he did so, Ben stirred, slowly opening unfocused blue-grey eyes.

“Q-Qui?” He whispered. His voice was hoarse, like he had been screaming. There was a cut on his cheek, and another over his right eye, both bleeding sluggishly. He was naked from the waist up, and his body was covered in more cuts and bruises so dark they were almost black. Something was wrong with how he held his right arm as well, Qui-Gon noticed, and Ben’s body flinched when it was touched, even as the man did not seem aware of the pain.

Qui-Gon carefully shifted his hold on Ben, trying to find a position that would cause the least amount of pain. “Yes Ben. It’s me, I’m here.”

Ben smiled, and raised a trembling hand to brush Qui-Gon’s cheek. “Hope I’m not dreaming,” he mumbled, tracing down the line of Qui-Gon’s cheek to skim over his lips before he dropped his hand, his reserves already exhausted. “Though, s’better than reality. Like dreaming of you, even if s’cause of the torture.”

Qui-Gon sucked in a shocked breath. Torture?! He shot a look at Obi-Wan, still standing beside the door, alert and watching the two older men, waiting for instructions. “Obi-Wan, go get a heal—”

“No!” Ben’s voice cracked in his urgency, and he grabbed at Qui-Gon’s collar. “No! No healers! Please! You can’t!”

“Alright, alright,” Qui-Gon soothed, exchanging a worried look with his Padawan as he carefully untangled Ben’s fingers from his clothing. “No healers, shh, shh. You’re safe, Ben. I’ve got you. No healers.”

This seemed to satisfy the man, as Ben’s grip on him loosened and fell away and he relaxed in Qui-Gon’s arms. For a moment Qui-Gon thought he had passed out again, but then Ben’s eyes cracked open once more, and he stared silently up at Qui-Gon for a long moment.

“I hope you’re not a dream or hallucination,” he murmured, voice a little steadier than it had been before. “That would probably be a bad sign.”

Then he passed out.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon carried Ben to his bedroom and laid him down on the bed. Carefully as he could, he removed the pitiful remains of Ben’s pants. His boots were missing along with his tunics, and Ben’s feet were bruised and swollen. Even with his limited knowledge, Qui-Gon’s was fairly certain at least a few of his toes were broken.

Once Ben was settled, Qui-Gon ducked into his tiny ‘fresher and rummaged around until he found some clean towels. Laying one aside, he soaked the other in warm water, wringing out the excess, and then took them both back into the bedroom.

Obi-Wan joined him in the bedroom while Qui-Gon was carefully cleaning some of the larger cuts scoring Ben’s chest and torso, a medkit slung over his shoulder and a frown on his lips, class work utterly abandoned in light of the situation.

“How is he?” the Padawan asked quietly, passing Qui-Gon the large tub of bacta that had, between the two of them, become a standard requirement in their household.

Qui-Gon took the tub gratefully, offering Obi-Wan a small smile. “He’s still unconscious, but most of his injuries don’t seem like they are too serious. I am worried about how much blood he must have lost though, and there is not a lot I can do for the broken bones, except try to set them.” He sighed and gently smoothed some bacta over the cut above Ben’s eye. “I wish he would let me take him to the healers.”

“I wonder why he won’t.” Obi-Wan passed Qui-Gon a bandage and picked up the damp towel. “They would have better supplies, and be better suited to help him.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Obi-Wan was silent as he went to rinse out the towel. When he returned, he asked, “Who is he, Master?”

At Qui-Gon’s confused look, the Padawan continued; “You said he is an old friend. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around the Temple, and he’s rarely here.”

Qui-Gon hesitated, absently pulling the blankets over Ben. He’d patched the man up as best he could, and now all that could be done was wait for him to wake up. Finally, Qui-Gon settled on, “I don’t know as much as I would like. He is very private, but he has his reasons. I’ve known him for…Force, years now. He’s a bit like Master Dooku, I suppose, and usually gets sent to the outer rim. Missions that can take years, the kind they don’t send Master-Padawan teams on.” He glanced at the still too pale figure in the bed. “It would explain…”

Obi-Wan frowned, and Qui-Gon recognized the look in his eyes.

“I trust Ben,” Qui-Gon said, firmly. “I would trust him with my life. I can feel it in the Force, it’s the right choice.”

Obi-Wan sighed, very softly. “Of course, Master Qui-Gon. I’m sorry I insinuated you shouldn’t. I just…” he hesitated, and in the dim light of the bedroom, the Padawan’s eyes seemed almost blue enough to shine, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Qui-Gon softened, and reached out, pulling Obi-Wan into a loose embrace. “I know, Padawan,” he murmured, the words vanishing into the young man’s hair. “And I thank you for it.”

Obi-Wan pulled away a moment later, and carefully set the medkit on the bedside table. “I should go try to finish that work. Let me know if you need anything?” He glanced at Ben, and then added, “Either of you.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I will. Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan nodded and returned the smile, before he slipped out of the room.

Qui-Gon sighed, and settled himself onto the floor beside the bed. With nothing to do but wait and worry, he allowed himself to sink into the Force’s meditative calm. He would centre himself, and then he would try to get some sleep.

Above him, unseen, brilliant blue eyes flicked open, and then closed.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon gave up on sleep early in the night. Ben was restless, his sleep fitful, and even in his moments of peace, Qui-Gon’s worries kept his own rest at bay. So he sat by the bed, reading and meditating when Ben didn’t need him.

At around two in the morning, Qui-Gon was pulled abruptly from a light meditation by the sound of a harsh cry from somewhere above him. Jerking back to himself, Qui-Gon scrambled to his feet. He reached out with the Force to throw the light on and turned to face the source of the noise.

Ben was sitting up in bed. Curled forwards, he was bracing himself on the bed with one hand. The other was clamped over his face, and he was retching.

Qui-Gon sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand. “Ben?”

The moment his hand touched Ben’s skin, Qui-Gon’s world lurched and spun. In a blink, he found himself on his back and pinned. Above him, Ben was a solid and unyielding weight on his stomach, and he was holding Qui-Gon’s wrists in a Force grip that was strong as dura-steel. Qui-Gon’s ankles were held too, and, his still rather disoriented brain supplied, there was a steadily increasing pressure of Ben’s hand on his throat, cutting off his air. There was pain there too, nails digging into fragile skin with a frantic determination.

Ben was shaking. His eyes were glazed and distant, and he radiated a panic Qui-Gon had only ever felt from injured creatures, or beings that had been pushed past their breaking points.

“Ben,” Qui-Gon rasped, trying to fight the instinctive urge to struggle. It would not help matters. “Ben!”

There was no response. Black spots began flickering in the corners of Qui-Gon’s vision. Desperate, he reached out with the Force. Ben’s shields were practically non-existent, shredded nearly as badly as his body.

_Ben,_ Qui-Gon tried. Almost immediately, Ben went still, though his grip on Qui-Gon’s windpipe did not falter.

_Ben_ , Qui-Gon repeated. _Ben it’s me. It’s Qui-Gon. You’re safe, it’s alright._ His lungs were protesting.

There was a flicker, and then the pressure on his throat relaxed, ever so slightly.

_That’s right_ , Qui-Gon urged, desperately trying to keep his mental voice soothing. _That’s right, Ben. Please, let me go._

_Q-Qui-Gon?_

Even with his training, Qui-Gon nearly flinched at the sound of Ben’s mental voice. It was…Force…as ragged as his actual voice, and so small, filled with the abject terror of a child.

_Yes, Ben. I’m here._

Abruptly, the hand on his throat vanished and his wrists and ankles were freed. In the same moment Qui-Gon’s mind was awash with emotions and memories that were not his own. Memories of pain, mental and physical, and laughter, high-pitched and wild with madness, all over screams, screams that were his but not his, Ben’s. Ben’s screaming.

_“Scream all you want, General,”_ the laughing woman’s voice came again, close, too close, to Qui-Gon/Ben’s ear. _“There is no one to save you this time. This time, you’re mine!”_

Then there was more pain.

Qui-Gon ripped himself away for the memories, struggling out of their grasp before they consumed him.

_BEN!_

Ben’s mind filled with confusion at Qui-Gon’s call, and another memory took hold. This one was less visceral, and Qui-Gon found himself watching…a fight? But he was watching it from what was not doubt Ben’s perspective, but he couldn’t see the other Jedi, the one fighting the figure all dressed in black. Qui-Gon watched in silent horror as the unknown Jedi faltered, and the Sith― for who else could he be, wielding a red blade?― cut him down.

_MASTER!_ Qui-Gon could hear Ben’s silent, heart-shattering scream, echoing in his ears. Gathering his will, Qui-Gon retreated back into his own mind, even as he hung on to the other man.

_Ben,_ he called again _. Ben! Come back, Love! They’re just memories, they can’t hurt you anymore!_ He reached out again, careful this time not to get lost in the rush. _Ben!_

There, a crack, a moment of hesitation.

_Ben!_

_Qui-Gon?_

Almost there. Qui-Gon reached out further, stretching towards the flickering light that was Ben.

There.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Ben was in his arms, shaking and sobbing, and Qui-Gon squeezed him tighter, closer.

“Shh,” Qui-Gon murmured, rubbing a hand gently over Ben’s back. His head was spinning with it all, and his lungs were still expressing their displeasure, but such things took a back seat, in the face of the distraught man in his arms.

_Shh,_ he repeated, stroking his fingers through Ben’s hair. _Shh, Ben, shh. You’re safe, you’re safe._

_Master?_

Qui-Gon blinked and frowned down at Ben. Glazed, distant eyes met his own, and some of Ben’s fear abated. He smiled.

_Master,_ he repeated, and Qui-Gon sucked in a breath at the wave of love that struck him.

_Ben,_ he murmured gently, not wanting to shock the man. _Ben, it’s me. Qui-Gon. Come on love, come back now._

To Qui-Gon’s immense relief, Ben stilled, and then blinked. For a moment, nothing happened, and then Ben’s gaze cleared, ever so slightly.

“Q-Qui?”

Qui-Gon smiles and gently brushed some of the sweat-soaked hair out of Ben’s face. “I’m here.”

Ben frowned. “What…what happened?”

“Flashback, or something like it.”

Ben winced, and tried to sit up, bracing himself against Qui-Gon’s chest with his good arm. “Sorry,” he rasped. Then he looked up, and paled.

“Oh Gods, Qui-Gon, your throat,” he whispered.

Confused, Qui-Gon touched his throat, and hissed when abused skin protested. He dropped his hand.

“I did that,” Ben breathed, horrified.

“You didn’t know what was going on,” Qui-Gon soothed, cupping Ben’s face carefully and pulling his gaze away and up to his face. “You were trapped in your mind, Ben. And you stopped. I’m alright, Love,” he promised, when Ben’s distraught expression did not change. “I’m alright.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ben said.

“I know.” Qui-Gon murmured, running a hand down Ben’s back, soothing away the tremors that still danced under his sweat-soaked skin. “I know. It’s over now, you’re safe now, Ben.”

He felt it when the other man relaxed. Ben slumped under Qui-Gon’s hands, leaning heavily against Qui-Gon. For a time, neither spoke, the only sound in the room Ben’s ragged breathing and the thud of Qui-Gon’s heartbeat in his own ears. Distantly, Qui-Gon felt the nudge of confusion and worry stretching over the training bond.

_All’s well, Obi-Wan_ , he sent.

_What happened?_

_Nightmare, or flashback of some sort_ , Qui-Gon replied, stroking Ben’s hair gently. _But we’re both alright. I’ll call you if I need your help. Go back to sleep._

He could feel Obi-Wan’s hesitation for a moment, before the response came. _Yes, Master._

Qui-Gon smiled. Then he turned his attention back to the man in his arms.

“Ben?”

He brushed his knuckles gently over Ben’s cheek. “Ben, Love, can you look at me?”

Slowly, Ben raised his head. Qui-Gon’s heart clenched; Ben looked exhausted and worn too thin. But there was light in his eyes, and it gave Qui-Gon hope.

“Ben, I need to check your injuries. Are you alright if I let you go?”

Ben hesitated for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Alright,” he whispered.

Qui-Gon smiled and pressed a light kiss to Ben’s forehead. He carefully unwound himself from the other man and rose from the bed to turn on the light. The medkit and tub of bacta was still sitting on the bedside table where Qui-Gon had left them, so he only had to leave the main room to fetch a damp cloth from the ‘fresher room. When he returned, Ben was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet dangling limply just above the floor. He was staring blankly at the far wall, and gave no visible sign of noticing Qui-Gon, except for a flickering, wavering brush against Qui-Gon’s shields.

Qui-Gon crosses the room silently, and knelt down in front of Ben’s knees.

_Ben?_

Ben’s blinked and then looked down, meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes. “I’m here,” he rasped, offering Qui-Gon a brittle smile.

Qui-Gon nodded, smiling back. “I’m going to change your bandages,” he said. “I need you to tell me if I hurt you, alright?”

Ben nodded, and as Qui-Gon touched his ankle, lifting Ben’s leg to prop his foot on Qui-Gon’s bent knee, Ben’s eyelids fluttered and slid shut with a tiny sigh. Catching the sound, Qui-Gon brushed his thumb against a patch of undamaged skin, sliding up and down over Ben’s heel and the bony knob of his ankle. Ben sighed again, and there was a rush of relief in the Force that prickled down Qui-Gon’s spine in an odd, almost pleasant shiver.

Qui-Gon carefully worked his way up, reapplying bacta and changing out the used bandages for fresh ones. By the time he was finished, Ben’s eyes were still closed, and he had listed forwards and was now leaning lightly against Qui-Gon’s chest.

“Ben?” Qui-Gon asked softly.

“Hm?” Ben murmured, cracking open one eye.

“I’m finished.”

Ben’s mouth twitched. “Thank you.”

Qui-Gon smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of Ben’s head, and then, when Ben pulled away from his chest, another to his lips. Then he pulled back and sat down on the bed.

“Come on, Love, back to bed.”

Ben nodded, eyelids already drooping once again. Qui-Gon chuckled, and gently maneuvered Ben down onto the mattress and under the blankets. Just as he finished, and was making to move away, Ben’s hand shot out, catching hold of Qui-Gon’s sleeve.

Looking back, Qui-Gon found Ben staring at him with a bleary gaze.

“Ben?”

“Stay, please.”

There was something incredibly fragile and childlike in Ben’s voice, in that moment. Carefully, Qui-Gon untangled Ben’s fingers from the cloth of his sleeve, and lifted his hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across Ben’s knuckles.

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

A week passed, and every morning, Qui-Gon woke with his heart in his throat, certain that today was the day he would roll over and find himself alone. But every morning he would make himself turn, and every morning Ben would be there, usually still asleep, and the breath would return to Qui-Gon’s lungs.

Ben healed slowly, if fairly steadily. The bacta helped, and for the first few days, he slept more often than he was awake. Every day, Qui-Gon would try to convince the other man to allow them to take him to the healers, or at the very least call a healer to them, but Ben always refused.

“I’ll be fine,” he would say, again and again, a smile on his lips that made some part of Qui-Gon wince. “Another day and I’ll be back on my feet.”

“I thought you were bad,” Qui-Gon grumbled to Obi-Wan on the eighth day, after Ben had fallen asleep, the words barely past his lips. “He makes you look like a star patient. Promise me you’ll never get that bad?”

The grin his Padawan shot him was one of pure cheek, and Qui-Gon groaned, making the young man laugh into his tea.

“Cheer up Master. At least he’s staying in bed,” Obi-Wan offered, gesturing towards the bedroom door with his cup.

“Hmm.” Qui-Gon raise his own cup to his mouth and raised an eyebrow at his Padawan from the opposite side of the table. “Would you believe me if I said that worried me more?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled with humor, and he drained his tea. “From what I’ve seen? Yes.” He stood up, setting his cup down on the counter and crossed the room to pick up his robe from where is lay on the sofa. “I’m going to go spar with Bant and Garen, Master. I’ll be back later.”

Qui-Gon smiled as he watched him go. “Have fun beating Garen.”

“I will!”

Laughing, Qui-Gon watched as the door closed behind Obi-Wan’s retreating form, and then turned back to his tea. Slowly, silence fell over his rooms, and Qui-Gon let himself sink into it.

That silence was shattered a few moments later, by someone saying his name. Qui-Gon opened his eyes.

Ben stood in the doorway to the bedroom. He was leaning against the doorframe, supporting himself, and his face was still too pale, the bags under his eyes too deep and dark in comparison, but he looked coherent, and for that Qui-Gon was thankful.

“Ben! What are you doing?!” Qui-Gon hurried over, reaching out try and take the other man’s weight himself, but Ben shook his head, and Qui-Gon stopped.

“You should be in bed,” he said, trying to cover his worry with the gentle scolding.

Ben shook his head again, and looked up to meet Qui-Gon’s eyes. The expression there sent a chill down Qui-Gon’s spine.

“No,” he said quietly.

Ben smiled sadly. “I’m going to have to leave soon.”

“You can’t!” Qui-Gon protested, taking a step forward. “Force, Ben, you can hardly stand! What are you going to do?!”

Ben continued to smile. His eyes were tired. “Anakin will find me.”

“And what if he doesn’t?!” Qui-Gon snapped, the chill growing and spreading, from his spine across his skin. “Is that what your plan is? Just fly back to whatever hell-hole of a planet you almost _died_ on, and then just sit tight and wait to be rescued?! Why?! You’re _home_ , Ben, right now!”

Ben’s eyes grew wide, just for a moment. “I― Qui, I can’t―”

“Just try!” He was begging now, but Qui-Gon didn’t care.

Ben hesitated, and then seemed to waver, swaying slightly. Qui-Gon noticed, snapping to attention.

“Come on, you need to sit down.”

Gently, he herded Ben back to the bed and sat down beside him. For a long moment, Ben would not meet Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“Ben, please,” Qui-Gon said, trying to keep his voice and calm and gentle. He was not sure how well he succeeded. “Please, just explain it to me. What’s going on?”

_I barely know you,_ he thought, true realization slapping him across the face. _I know what makes you laugh, and I know your favorite type of tea. I know your body and your voice. But there is so much you won’t tell me, so much I don’t know. Even your real name_.

“Qui-Gon…” Ben’s voice was pleading. “I…you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Qui-Gon leaned in and carefully cupped Ben’s face with both his hands. Their eyes met, and Qui-Gon held Ben’s gaze.

“I would,” he whispered. “I will always believe you.”

“I can’t” Ben whispered back. “I can’t, Qui. I’m scared.”

“Why?”

Ben closed his eyes. He suddenly looked twice his age. “I’ve messed with things so much already.” He raised a hand, covering Qui-Gon’s own. “All of this should never have happened, but I was selfish and I…I didn’t think it was real, not at first. But it was and you are, and now―” He stopped, exhaling harshly.

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what else to do. Please,” Ben’s eyes snapped open, blue and piercing, “Please, Qui-Gon, trust me just a little bit longer. I know it’s a lot to ask, but please.”

“I trust you.” Qui-Gon leaned in further, resting his forehead against Ben’s and closing his eyes. “I will always trust you. But Ben, I don’t understand. What do you mean, you’ve messed with things. What’s going on?”

“I-I…”

“ _Please_.”

Finally, Ben pulled back, freeing himself from Qui-Gon’s hands. Qui-Gon opened his eyes, and found Ben staring somberly at him. The silence stretched, long and tense. The air in the room felt charged. At last, Ben spoke.

“This isn’t my time.”

Qui-Gon blinked. “What?”

“This isn’t my time.” Ben waved a hand at the room at large. “None of this. It’s been happening to me for over twelve years now. I don’t know how, or why, but some days I wake up and find myself…here. In the past. Your present.” He dropped Qui-Gon’s gaze and stared at his knees. “Do you remember when we first met? That was the first time.”

Qui-Gon stared at Ben, mind reeling. What he was saying was impossible, and yet, Ben believed what he said, Qui-Gon could hear it in his words, feel it in the Force. And it…would explain a few things. Twelve years for Ben, to Qui-Gon’s…Force, four decades? More? No wonder it was as if he had stopped aging, even compared to Qui-Gon’s particularly long-lived branch of humans.

But still…

“I…how?” Qui-Gon breathed, when he realized that he had been too quiet for too long.

Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It just seems to happen. I’ve only just started being able to tell when I’m going to be pulled back. The only thing I can call certain is that is always seem to happen in a linear fashion. It’s always further along for you, just like for me, though the spaces between jumps are different in both timelines.” He shook his head again, and then reached out, taking one of Qui-Gon’s hands in both of his own. “I don’t know anything else. And I can’t tell you more. Please, Qui-Gon, don’t ask me to. Not yet.”

“Ben―”

“I promise,” Ben cut him off, “I will explain everything. When I can, I will. I promise you, Qui-Gon. But please, for now…don’t ask me to?”

He sounded desperate, so much so that Qui-Gon finally, slowly relented. He nodded, even as his mind still reeled. “Alright. I can wait.”

Ben let out a huge breath and leaned in, wrapping his arms loosely around Qui-Gon’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Qui-Gon could say nothing. He pressed a kiss to Ben’s hair.

They stayed like that, curled against each and silent, until Qui-Gon was unsure of just how much time had passed. Finally, Ben stirred, and pulled back to look at Qui-Gon.

“It’s time,” he whispered.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, swallowing back the fear that suddenly swelled up in his chest. “Do you have to?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

There was a tremor in Ben’s voice that made Qui-Gon open his eyes.

“Where will you be? In your time?” Qui-Gon asked.

For a moment, uncertainty flickered across Ben’s features. “Usually, where I was when I left.”

Qui-Gon felt his panic spike. “You mean, you’re going to end up back where you were―” He broke off, unable to make the words form on his tongue. Ben nodded. Then he smiled, just a little.

“I’ll be alright, Qui-Gon. Anakin will find me. I can feel it.”

That did nothing to assuage Qui-Gon’s fears. “But what if he doesn’t?!”

“He will. I have faith in him, and in the Force.”

Qui-Gon bit his lip, and then reached out, cupping Ben’s face and pulling him in for a gently kiss.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered, against Ben’s lips.

Ben’s fingers brushed at Qui-Gon’s cheek and then slid through his hair. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

Qui-Gon had to force himself to pull away. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Ben nodded, and gave Qui-Gon another tiny smile. Then, slowly, he pulled away from Qui-Gon entirely and rose from the bed. His absence left Qui-Gon cold almost immediately. He watched, silent, and Ben found the robes and tunics Obi-Wan had offered him, wincing a little as he pulled them on, until Qui-Gon rose to help him. Then at last, there was nothing left to do. Nothing left to postpone the inevitable.

Ben stepped up to Qui-Gon, and kissed him once, lightly. Then he smiled. “I love you.”

Qui-Gon felt like his heart was breaking. He smiled back. “And I you. Come home safe.”

For a moment, Ben’s expression changed, becoming open and soft and shocked. But then it was gone, and he nodded. “I promise.”

Qui-Gon did not move, as Ben finally turned and walked away. He did not move when the bedroom door closed, cutting Ben off from view. Not until he finally heard the sound of the front door closing, did he slowly step back, and sink down onto the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

_Please, my love,_ he thought, _Please. Come back to me safe._


	9. Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short update this time, but I hope you guys enjoy it all the same.

Qui-Gon was woken from a light doze by knocking at his door. Frowning, he stretched and pushed himself up off the couch, wincing as his neck let out a series of vicious cracks and pops as he turned his head. Force, he was getting too old to fall asleep on the couch, he thought, as he strode over to door. Glancing at the wall crono, Qui-Gon’s curiosity grew. It was late. Late enough that most of the people who might have cause to visit him would be asleep or otherwise occupied. So who could be outside?

Reaching for the door controls, Qui-Gon froze, the answer to his question revealing itself as a familiar presence wash over him. Qui-Gon’s eyes widened, and he slammed his hand against the controls, the door sliding open far too slowly for his already rapidly hammering heart.

“Ben!”

Before the other man said even a word, Qui-Gon reached out, pulling Ben into his home and into his arms, holding him tightly. Ben’s arms came up around Qui-Gon’s waist, and Qui-Gon felt Ben’s fingers tangle in his robes.

“Hello Qui-Gon.”

Ben’s voice was soft, and a little muffled from Qui-Gon’s shoulder, but it was like an iron band had been removed from around Qui-Gon’s lungs and he was finally able to breathe easily once again.

“I’ve been so worried,” Qui-Gon murmured, pressing his lips against Ben’s hair. Ben smelt like sweat, and ship air filtration systems, and somehow still, like tea, and Qui-Gon felt his heartbeat return to something more normal. “It’s been months. I had no idea if you―”

He had to stop, swallowing past the tightness in his throat, and Ben stirred against him, pulling back to look up into Qui-Gon’s face. He smiled. “I promised you I’d come back.”

Qui-Gon smiled and gently cupped Ben’s face. “You did. Thank you.”

The kiss was soft and sweet, and when it ended neither man moved. They just stood there for a long moment, basking in the other’s presence.

Finally, Qui-Gon moved. He caught Ben’s hand, and squeezing it gently he pulled the other man over to the sofa to sit next to him. Ben went willingly, and sat pressed up against Qui-Gon’s side, unwilling to give up the close contact.

“What happened?” Qui-Gon asked. Ben didn’t need to ask what he meant. He sighed and stroked his beard absently with his free hand.

“I appeared where I left,” he said, eyes drifting over and away from Qui-Gon, landing on something behind him. “I had already managed to escape when I…jumped, shall we say? So I was fairly safe. Then Anakin found me.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “That’s it?”

Ben returned his focus to Qui-Gon and smiled weakly, and Qui-Gon felt his frown deepen. “There’s more.”

Ben nodded. “There is. But I can’t say. Not now.”

“Ben!”

Ben closed his eyes, shaking his head at Qui-Gon’s protest. “Please, Qui-Gon. Please. Just give me a little longer. I can’t risk it.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment against the frustration that swelled in his chest. “I understand, but surely―”

“Please.”

Qui-Gon opened his eyes to find Ben’s were still closed, and he had hunched in on himself, just a little. “Please, Qui-Gon, I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t talk about it. Not now.” One slender hand ghosted over his chest, and Qui-Gon remembered all the cuts that had covered Ben’s body. He sighed, and tugged Ben into another embrace.

“Alright. Not now.”

He felt Ben sigh against him. “Thank you.”

They stayed in silence for a while. Qui-Gon could feel Ben breathing in long, measured breaths, centering himself in the Force. It was easier to feel him in the Force now, after having been so deeply wrapped in Ben’s mind. His shields were still there, but it was as if Ben wasn’t trying quite so hard to keep Qui-Gon utterly out of his head. It was nice, a pleasant warmth, right on the edge of Qui-Gon’s awareness, that felt like _safe_ and _home_. Oddly enough…it almost reminded him of the pairbonds he had with Tahl and Micah…or his training bond with Obi―

“Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon blinked, and looked down at Ben, who was frowning up at him.

“Yes?”

Ben stared at him for another moment, and gave a tiny shake of his head. “Nothing.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Ben nodded. “Where’s Obi-Wan?”

The eyebrow rose higher at the blatant subject change. “He’s with Quinlan.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. Teenager. I find it’s better not to ask.”

Ben snickered. “That’s probably for the best.” Then his eyes narrowed, his expression sly. “So…what you’re saying is, we’re alone?”

Qui-Gon blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change as Ben moved closer, sliding easily into Qui-Gon’s lap and wrapping his arms loosely around his neck.

“I― yes?”

Ben’s grin was almost feline. “Good.”

He pressed close, leaning up to catch Qui-Gon’s lips in a kiss.  This one was nothing like their earlier kiss; it was hot and deep, Ben’s teeth catching at Qui-Gon’s lower lip, tongue seeking into his mouth. Qui-Gon groaned against Ben’s mouth, his hands falling to Ben’s hips and squeezing, tugging him that much closer. One of Ben’s hands slid into Qui-Gon’s hair, fingers tangling, and then he pulled, hard enough to pull Qui-Gon’s head back, just hard enough to hurt.

Qui-Gon groaned, his eyes sliding closed as tipped his head up, following Ben’s pull. He heard Ben laugh, and felt him mouth at his throat, a slight drag of teeth, and then Ben bite down, hard, at the thick muscle of Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Qui-Gon gasped, the sound dragging out into a moan as Ben soothed the spot with his tongue.

“We still need,” Qui-Gon gasped, “To talk about things.”

“So talk,” Ben murmured, tugging at the layers of Qui-Gon’s tunics, pulling the open and pressing his lips to the skin over Qui-Gon’s heart.

Qui-Gon carded his fingers in Ben’s hair, soft as silk. “You’re distracting me.”

“I am,” Ben agreed. He looked up, meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes. Qui-Gon shivered. Ben’s gaze was molten, hot and wanting. Ben licked his lips, and Qui-Gon followed the movement. “Is it working?”

And Force, Qui-Gon was lost in that gaze.

“It is.”

Ben grinned, wide and bright and beautiful. He stretched up, leaning in for another kiss; stopping just a fraction of an inch before he reached Qui-Gon’s lips. “Good.”

Perhaps Qui-Gon ought to have argued more, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not with Ben here, safe and warm in his arms, alive and breathing against Qui-Gon’s skin.

Qui-Gon sat up, letting Ben strip away his tunics and drop them onto the floor. Then he held still and allowed Qui-Gon to do the same for him, laughing when Qui-Gon ducked his head and peppered his neck and collarbone with whiskery kisses. He kept laughing as Qui-Gon pressed him back against the couch and kept kissing his way down to the edge of Ben’s leggings. His laughter grew louder when Qui-Gon blew a raspberry against his stomach, and he reached up, pulling Qui-Gon onto him and kissing him again.

It was slow and easy and hot, swallowing Qui-Gon up and wrapping around him. They stayed there on the couch, laughing and kissing and biting and touching until they were naked together, never not touching, the laughter fully replaced by moans and Qui-Gon was practically shaking with need. Under him, Ben’s eyes were closed, his head back and his expression one of utter abandon. His throat and chest and shoulders were littered with pale white scars and dark bruises and imprints of Qui-Gon’s teeth. He was…

“…The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Qui-Gon whispered, sitting back and dragging his fingertips over Ben’s hip. Ben twitched at the touch, and his eyes slid open. He smiled at Qui-Gon, loose and lazy.

“Flatterer.”

“Only because it’s true.”

Ben laughed and then gasped, as Qui-Gon dragged his fingers up the length of Ben’s cock.

“Do you remember that first time?” Qui-Gon asked, sliding his fingers from Ben’s cock down his thigh, watching the muscle twitch under his fingers. “I didn’t know who you were but I felt drawn to you. I had to talk to you, the Force was pulling at me.”

He leaned down, pressed a kiss to Ben’s knee. “I didn’t plan to kiss you. I didn’t plan to have sex with you, but _Force_. It all felt so right. You, Ben, everything about you has always felt so right, like this is what was meant to be.” He looked up. Ben’s eyes were shining. Qui-Gon smiled.

“Do you remember? At the hotel?” Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to the inside of Ben’s thigh, and then another, punctuating his words with kisses as moved up Ben’s body, stopping just before Ben’s cock. Under him, Ben was trembling with the effort of holding still. Qui-Gon grinned.

“I wanted you so badly. To touch, and taste.” He pressed a kiss to Ben’s hip. “And then you let me. Remember?”

“I remember.” Ben’s voice sounded wrecked, and it sent a wave of arousal through Qui-Gon.

“Good.”

Ben tasted just as good as he had the first time, if not better. The sound he made as Qui-Gon sucked him off were glorious, as he gasped and cursed and finally shouted Qui-Gon’s name as he came, fingers tangled in Qui-Gon’s hair.

Swallowing and licking his lips, Qui-Gon pulled away from Ben, who propped himself up on one elbow, still panting. Qui-Gon smiled. “Good?”

“Force, so good,” Ben groaned. His hair was a mess, sticking up even which way, and his face was almost as red. “Come here.”

He held his arms out, and Qui-Gon moved into them, letting Ben draw him in for a soft kiss. Then Ben rested a sweaty forehead against Qui-Gon’s and smiled. His hand slid down Qui-Gon’s chest and he squeezed Qui-Gon’s cock, laughing when Qui-Gon’s breath hitched, and he cupped Qui-Gon’s cheek with his free hand.

“Take me to a proper bed, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Qui-Gon laughed and kissed Ben’s nose.

“It would be my honour.”


	10. Ticking Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain cleanses, but also reveals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jaws theme plays*

It had been raining steadily on Coruscant since the early hours before dawn; one of those rare days where the utterly urban planet seemed to remember its roots as an arboreal paradise. The rain fell steadily and showed no signs of weakening any time soon. The rooms closest to the Temple’s external walls rang with the steady staccato.

Qui-Gon loved it.

Rain on Coruscant was not as common as it might be assumed. Most of the time, the urban planet was blanketed in a layer of smog, trapping in the heat put out by the thousands of living being and billions of machines that spent their lives and existences on the paved streets and walkways. But even as the advancement of time had tried it’s best to stamp out the once lush forests that had once covered the planet, once _been_ the planet, it had not been able to change it entirely.

There was still the rain.

Most of the gardens in the temple were indoors, covered and climate-controlled. But there was one garden, smaller than the central meditation garden, with a specialized system that allowed it to mimic not only the time of day, but also the weather patterns. And so, when it rained on Coruscant, it rained there as well.

It was one of Qui-Gon’s favorite places in the Temple. Dooku had shown it to him when Qui-Gon had first become his Padawan.

He made his way there now. It was late in the afternoon, and rain clouds blocked much of the already dim afternoon light, leaving the Temple halls filled with the kind of cool shade that only rainstorms could create. Qui-Gon moved at an easy, unhurried pace. He had nowhere to be, and Obi-Wan could handle himself for the evening, if he returned from visiting his friends before Qui-Gon did.

The noise when Qui-Gon stepped through the doorway to the garden was thunderous. The rain plummeted down with a vengeance, and for a moment Qui-Gon just stood there, face tipped up towards the sky, and let it all wash over him. He let out a huge exhale, reveling in the calm that filled him. Around him, the gardens thrummed and sang with life. Qui-Gon could feel the plants stretching out their roots, soaking up the water around them. He sighed, lowering his shields a little, enough to submerge himself more fully into the Living Force around him.

Qui-Gon began to walk, ambling his way towards the large Greenbark tree that marked the center of the garden, and the bit of shelter its massive canopy would offer. The garden was lush, and seemed even more so with the downpour, and he had to duck and detour around plants and low-hanging leaves and branches. Carefully pushing an Arboray branch aside, the small clearing finally came into view, and to Qui-Gon’s surprise, revealed a familiar figure.

Over the years, Qui-Gon had grown more or less used to Ben showing up where Qui-Gon least expected him. Come to think of it, that was the only way Ben ever visited, out of the blue and unannounced. Though perhaps that was to be expected, if what he had said about time travel (and Force, Qui-Gon still had not even begun to wrap his mind around that one, and all the question it brought to the table) proved true. But as Qui-Gon watched Ben, standing just out from under the Greenbark’s shelter, he realized something was very different.

Ben’s shields were rock solid, stronger that Qui-Gon had ever felt from him. His presence in the Force was almost non-existent― even submerged in the Force as he was, Qui-Gon had not felt even the slight hint of the other man’s presence in the garden. It was…disturbing.

Once, when he had still been a Padawan, only two or three years into his training, Qui-Gon had snuck out of bed and into the gardens during a storm. There, he had nearly stumbled across his Master and another man Qui-Gon recognized as Master Sifo-Dyas, a friend of his Master’s (or at least, Qui-Gon thought they were friends. Some days he was not so sure) already there. Dooku had been radiating concern in a way Qui-Gon had never experienced from his normally so stoic guardian, and Master Dyas had felt…wrong. Hidden behind a large tree, Qui-Gon had watched as Dooku had stood half a foot or so from Sifo, speaking quietly, his words lost in the roar of the rain before they could reach Qui-Gon’s ears. Sifo, barefooted and bare-chested, his long dark hair hanging heavy and rain-soaked around his face, had not moved, not spoken, only stared up at the sky as the Force around him heaved and spun in a way that left Qui-Gon feeling vaguely ill. Finally, Dooku moved, closing the space between them and reaching up with one elegant hand. He had cupped Sifo’s cheek, still speaking, and whatever force had been holding Sifo had finally retreated. The man had blinked, his gaze falling on Dooku. His expression had been one of such confusion and grief that it had haunted Qui-Gon’s dreams that night. Dooku had pulled Sifo close then, and Qui-Gon had crept away, feeling like an intruder, watching something so intimate.

Now, watching Ben, Qui-Gon was reminded of that night. Ben’s face was tipped up to face the rain, but there was no peace in his expression. He looked…alone. There was no other way Qui-Gon could put it. Standing in the rain, arms wrapped tightly around himself, Ben looked utterly alone.

_Like he’s screaming out into empty space, but knows no one will answer._

The thought drifted through Qui-Gon’s mind, startling him out of his stillness.

“Ben?”

Qui-Gon took a step forward, keeping his voice gentle and not too loud. He wanted to run, to cover the space between them in three strides and wrap Ben in his arms, to shelter him from the rain and from whatever it was that had left him looking so lost, but he remembered Dooku, and how slowly he had approached Sifo, careful not to startle the lost man, and let the memories guide his movements.

Ben didn’t turn, or give any sign of noticing Qui-Gon, but for a moment Qui-Gon thought he felt Ben’s shield waiver, just a little. He took a few more steps.

“Ben? Can you hear me?”

Finally, Qui-Gon was close enough to lay a hand gently on Ben’s shoulder. The reaction was instantaneous. Ben jerked, spinning around, his eyes snapping open, wild and panicked. Qui-Gon jerked his hand away and took an instinctive step back, an apology already forming on his lips, when Ben’s eyes met his. Recognition filled his face, and a second later it was replaced in rapid succession by confusion, realization, relief, and then grief.

“Qui-Gon,” Ben whispered, and Qui-Gon only had a moment to process the sound of his own name, the exhaustion and pain in Ben’s voice, before Ben was in his arms. Qui-Gon pulled him close and held him tight with only the briefest moment of hesitation, as Ben pressed his face into the crook of Qui-Gon’s neck and clung to him, shoulders shaking with what Qui-Gon realized were sobs. Great, heaving sobs that make Qui-Gon’s chest ache. He held Ben all the tighter, and was unable to miss how thin Ben had gotten. In the Force, he felt Ben’s diamond-hard shields crack, pouring exhaustion into the air around them, bone-deep and all consuming.

They stood there, the rain pouring down around them. Ben was already soaked to the skin, his hair auburn-dark and plastered down against his scalp, his robes sodden and dripping, and Qui-Gon was not far from there himself. He wondered just how long Ben had been out here.

Rubbing Ben’s back with one hand, Qui-Gon closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the top of Ben’s head. He thought back to other visits, the increasingly dark bags under Ben’s eyes, the lost weight, the new scars visible every time Qui-Gon got him naked, and the way his smiles seemed to be getting smaller and more fragile.

 _He can’t keep on like this. Does no one see that?_ Qui-Gon thought, a little desperately. He raised his hand, carding his fingers through Ben’s sodden hair. “Ben―”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Ben’s voice shook almost as much as his body had been, and when he raised his head, his eyes were hollow.

“I’m so tired, Qui,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t―” he faltered, voice hitching as another sob tried to push its way free. “She’s dead! I couldn’t save her! I was right there and I was too slow and she’s dead!”

He seemed to crumple then, like a puppet with its strings cut. Only Qui-Gon’s arms around him kept Ben from dropping to the ground. Qui-Gon held him tighter, keeping Ben upright and close as his mind raced for something to say.

Ben’s face was wet and cold with rain as he buried it against Qui-Gon’s neck, but then so was the rest of Qui-Gon. He was shaking again too, small, rapid tremors that made his body shake like a leaf in a hurricane.

“I failed her,” he whispered, the words like ice against Qui-Gon’s skin. “I failed, _again_ , and now she’s dead!”

“Who, Ben?” Qui-Gon asked, bewildered.

The answer was immediate. “I can’t tell you!” Ben wailed, his voice all exhaustion and fear and grief and loss so great it took Qui-Gon’s breath away. In the Force, the ever-present, ever-steady light that was Ben seemed to flicker and dim. Qui-Gon sucked in a shocked breath, the implications startling and oh so _wrong_. As if on cue, the skies cracked and rippled with thunder, like an omen, or a warning.

Qui-Gon refused to allow it. He would not, could not, stand there watching Ben drown like this. He remembered all too well how the Darkness had nearly swallowed him after losing Xanatos, and how Ben’s unshaking light and warmth and patience had saved him. Qui-Gon refused to watch Ben fall to the same.

Mind made up, Qui-Gon moved, scooping Ben and into his arms, holding him close to his chest. Ben yelped, loud and startled, his eyes snapping open wide.

“Qui―”

“We’re going home.” Qui-Gon said firmly, cutting off Ben’s protest before it could begin.

At those words, Ben’s eyes got even wider, and he made an odd, choked noise. Then his body went slack, and he curled in against Qui-Gon, still trembling ever so slightly, though if from the cold or fresh tears Qui-Gon was not certain.

The return trip to Qui-Gon’s quarters was faster than Qui-Gon’s walk to the gardens. Through some trip of fate or the Force, the halls were empty as they traveled through them, with no one to see or question the odd sight of two sodden Jedi Masters, one carrying the other in his arms like a child.

Qui-Gon’s rooms were dark and quiet, empty of life beyond the two of them and Qui-Gon’s ever-increasing array of plants. Still, even as the door hissed shut behind them, the sound ending with the snap of the bio-lock engaging, Qui-Gon did not put Ben down. Instead, he carried him across the main room and into the bedroom, and from there on to the small attached ‘fresher room.

“You’re soaked,” he said, at Ben’s confused expression as Qui-Gon set him down. “We both are. Come on, take off your robes. Boots and leggings too. I’ll get them dried for the morning.”

When Ben didn’t moved, just stared, Qui-Gon sighed. He stripped off his own soaked clothing and boots, tossing the dripping fabric into a pile of the ‘fresher floor, and then turn and began carefully Ben’s. About half-way through the whole process, Ben seemed to return to the moment and realize what was going on. Things went faster after that.

“Your bags were in the hall,” Ben said quietly, as Qui-Gon guided him towards the bed.

Qui-Gon frowned and glanced over at the door. “Oh, yes. The Council assigned Obi-Wan and I a new mission this afternoon. We’re headed out tomorrow.”

“Anywhere interesting?” Ben asked. His voice was rough, and when he smiled it looked forced. He was, Qui-Gon knew, trying to put Qui-Gon at ease. Qui-Gon sighed, a little fondly, and sat down on the bed, pulling Ben with him.

“Not particularly, though it is rather odd. The Trade Federation has set up a blockade around Naboo, and Obi-Wan and I are being sent to…”

Qui-Gon trailed off when he felt Ben go tense and still in his arms. Around them, the Force flickered, before he felt Ben’s shield snap tight. He looked down, concern flaring.

Ben’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes were squeezed tightly closed. His hands were clenched into tight, trembling fists.

“Ben?” Qui-Gon asked. What had he said, to cause a reaction like this? “Ben, are you alright?”

The laughter burst from Ben’s lips like curse; it even sounded painful. Ben didn’t open his eyes, but he tipped his head back with a shaking breath. Tears slid down his cheeks, but Ben let them fall, unheeded.

“Ben?” Qui-Gon said again, panic pushing the urgency of his words.

“Of course,” Ben whispered, still not opening his eyes. “Of course it’s _now_.”

“Ben!” Qui-Gon barked. Ben startled, eyes snapping open. He stared at Qui-Gon, eyes wide and hollow, and there was such despair there that it took Qui-Gon’s breath away in a shocked gasp.

Finally, after a silence that felt like an eternity, all the tension drained from Ben, and he slumped against Qui-Gon’s chest.

“I’m alright,” he whispered.

“You’re not,” Qui-Gon said, not sure why he was also whispering, but unable to think too hard on the fact. “You’re not.”

Ben laughed, soft and shaky, and muffled by Qui-Gon’s body. “I’m not,” he agreed. “But you’re here. That’s enough.” He grew even quieter. “That’s always been enough.”

“Ben. Please,” Qui-Gon pleaded. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

But Ben only shook his head. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Not yet. Please. Not yet.”

Before Qui-Gon could protest, insist, or _beg_ Ben to explain, Ben lifted his head, leaning in and stretching up, his fingers tangling in Qui-Gon’s hair to pull him down for a kiss. It was soft and fairly chaste, just a press of dry lips, but Qui-Gon could feel the desperation in Ben’s fingers in his hair and the faint tremor of his lips.

 _We really need to stop meeting like this,_ Qui-Gon though distantly, as he cupped Ben’s face with one hand, brushing the pad of his thumb lightly over the line of Ben’s cheek.

Ben’s mental laughter was a surprise, light and a touch hysterical and utterly unexpected to Qui-Gon. Without thinking, he reached out, grasping onto the thread-thin connection and holding on. Ben’s shields did not waver, but neither did he shy away from the contact.

_I’m sorry._

_Don’t be,_ Qui-Gon soothed. _Not your fault._

That brought another shaky mental laugh, and Ben pressed closer, and something in the Force around him ached in a way that Qui-Gon could not find the words to explain.

Cool fingers brushed at the skin of Qui-Gon’s stomach, dipping under the hem of his tunic. Ben stretched up, pressing his forehead against Qui-Gon’s and staring down into his eyes.

 _Kiss me?_ Ben asked, palm sliding up Qui-Gon’s stomach and over his ribs.

Qui-Gon smiled, and stretched up to comply. Words could wait until the morning.

 

* * *

 

 

Movement stirred Qui-Gon into the beginning stages of waking. Groaning, he rolled over, reaching for Ben beside him, only to find the bed empty. Pushing himself upright and his hair out of his face, Qui-Gon peered into the darkened room.

“Ben?”

“Go back to sleep,” Ben said quietly, from somewhere near the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Qui asked, blinking until his eye began to adjust. Ben was sitting at the end of the bed, pulling on his boots. He didn’t turn to look at Qui-Gon as he stood up, walking back up to where Qui-Gon was still sitting. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to Qui-Gon’s forehead, and then another to his lips, fingers lingering in his hair.

“Go back to sleep,” he said again, and Qui-Gon’s eyes widened, catching the layer of command even as it began to take effect.

The last thing Qui-Gon noticed, before sleep overtook him, was something solid and warm being pressed into his hand, and a few, whispered words.

_“I’m sorry.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I wasn't clear, this takes place for Ben after the stuff on Mandelore with Maul and Satine.
> 
> Anyway~ See y'all next update!


	11. Interim

_When I left, I left the crystal with him._

_It took a while, but I have finally come to realize that it has been the cause of all this. I never would have guessed, when it was first given to me. I thought it was just a pretty rock, accompanied by haunting words._

_Heh. Some Jedi Knight I was._

_I don’t know how it did what it did, drawing me back and forth through time. I considered talking to Mace, or Yoda, or perhaps one of the Shadows but…I didn’t want to risk it. Whenever thought about talking about it with someone else, it all felt too fragile. Like I might lose it all if anyone knew._

_Of course, Anakin has always been the exception. But at least, with him knowing, I could finally rest easy that I wasn’t going utterly mad._

_Though, I suppose the risk is still there._

_That woman must have known. But why would she give it to me?_

_If Qui-Gon were here, he would laugh and tell me to stop fretting. “All is as the Force wills it” he would say. He would probably be right._

_Force, I miss him already._

_I don’t know why I was given this chance, to see him again, to have what we had, but…_

_I knew it would have to end. Of course it would have to end. That’s how time works. I know this._

_…It still hurts. I’m losing him all over again._

_That’s why I couldn't stay to say goodbye. If I had waited, I don’t know if I could have left. But I couldn’t stay. And neither would he, after all._

_That’s why I left the crystal. I won’t go back, once he’s gone. I won’t live through those years again._

_I wanted to leave things on a good note. A better note._

_Qui-Gon, if you can hear me now, one with the Force as you are, I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye._

_I love you._

_I think I’ve always loved you._

_I’m sorry too. I promised I’d explain, but in the end, I was too scared. I didn’t want to lose you that way too._

_I hope you can forgive me._

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jaws theme intensifies*
> 
> (Don't get used to this. Double updating is a RARITY)


	12. Naboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo. Tatooine. Coruscant. Naboo again.
> 
> A circle nears completion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who waited for this update! I'm sorry it took me so long to complete, but as you can see, it's kind of a monster. I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> Also special thanks to the wonder SanerontheInside for the last minute and incredibly helpful beta-ing! This would not be nearly so polished without you!
> 
> ALSO!! THIS ISN'T THE END! I PROMISE! There is at least one more chapter, if not two!

As soon as he opened his eyes, Qui-Gon knew something was wrong. Falling asleep with Ben and then waking up alone was hardly unusual but…this time it felt different…more permanent.

Sitting up, Qui-Gon brushed his hair out of his face and looked around the room.   Empty. Something was wrong. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed and throwing back the blankets, Qui-Gon paused as he heard something clatter against the floorboards.

He peered down at what appeared to a thumb’s length of pale pink crystal, laying rather innocently on the ground beside his foot. There was a fine metal band on one end, with a small loop attached, that a chain or cord could be threaded through. Frowning, Qui-Gon picked it up. Holding it up to the pale morning light coming in from the under the curtain, he took a moment to admire the way it caught and reflected the light, casting fragments of colour around the room.

“Now where did you come from?” Qui-Gon murmured, tossing the rock up and catching it again before turning it in his fingers. It thrummed in the Force, almost vibrating in Qui-Gon’s hand. He prodded at it with the Force, and then nearly dropped it onto the bed when the Force around him seemed to _lurch_. Qui-Gon stared at it. “What in the world…”

It felt like Ben, Qui-Gon realized with a jolt. Like he had carried it for a long time. His heart clenched, and he tightened his fingers around it until the edge of the stone bit into the flesh of his palm.

“You promised me answers, Ben,” he murmured, staring blankly at the far wall. “But instead you’ve only left me with more questions.”

He hated how final the silence around him felt.

 

* * *

 

 It would take just over three days to reach Naboo, and as they approached the ship that awaited them, Qui-Gon found himself dreading the thought of being idle. Being left at the mercy of his thoughts was hardly a pleasant prospect, and the stone, now worn around his neck on a cord and tucked into his tunics, hung heavy against his chest, a reminder of just how many questions he still had. Questions Qui-Gon was beginning to fear might never be answered.

Qui-Gon’s distraction must have been more obvious than he realized. A few hours after leaving Coruscant, Qui-Gon had emerged from an attempt at light meditation to find Obi-Wan sitting facing him. His eyes were closed, but when Qui-Gon moved, not standing but turning his torso and pulling back and elbow to work out the kinks, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and met his teacher’s gaze.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at the younger man. “Is something wrong, Padawan?”

“I would ask you the same thing,” Obi-Wan replied. His posture slackened, slipping out of the careful lines of a mediation pose and into something softer. He tilted his head, curiosity and concern on his face. “Something troubles you, Master. Is it the mission?”

Ah yes. The mission. The Trade Federation had set up a blockade around Naboo, a smaller mid-rim planet, in protest of the new shipping lane taxes—or so they claimed. The blockade had been going on for a month, and it seemed nothing had been done, even as the people of the planet starved. Qui-Gon snorted. Politicians. Why should they care about the happenings of the galaxy, when they lived the high life in cushy apartments on Coruscant?

Even now, the Senate was not acting in aid of the Naboo by sending Qui-Gon and his Padawan. It had been the Supreme Chancellor alone who had, secretly, reached out to the Jedi to ask for aid. The whole thing put Qui-Gon on edge. They were Jedi, they should not have to wait for a politician to come to them in the night before they went to help those in need.

Qui-Gon sighed and offered his apprentice a small smile. “Yes, this mission is concerning, Obi-Wan. But…”

“But that is not what has you so unbalanced, is it?”

Qui-Gon chuckled, and shook his head. “No, my ever perceptive Padawan, it is not.”

Obi-Wan rose, but only to move to sit at Qui-Gon’s side. “A credit for your troubles, Master?”

For a moment, Qui-Gon was silent. Inside his robes, it seemed as if the crystal was pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

“Ben was in the Temple last night,” he finally said.

Obi-Wan frowned, picking up on Qui-Gon’s tone, and the emotions behind it. “Did something happen?”

Qui-Gon sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, temporarily slipping out of the persona of Master and teacher. He felt tired, not in his bones, but in his heart. Tired of worrying, tired of not knowing. “Something had gone wrong. Someone dear to him died, though he wouldn’t say more than that. I had…never seen him like that before.”

Obi-Wan seemed to chew over his words before he said, “He seemed…very tired, the last time I saw him. Maybe he needs to visit a Soul Healer?”

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon murmured, noncommittal. It was a good idea, and there was no doubt that Obi-Wan was right, however Qui-Gon could not shake the feeling that he would not get the chance to suggest it.

_Ben…just what are you doing out there?_

 

* * *

 

That night, curled as best he could onto the too small, too hard bunk (hardly out of the ordinary, but that did not mean Qui-Gon had to enjoy feeling twice as large a bit like a bantha in a china shop, Qui-Gon found sleep evading him. Even the steady, rhythmic sound of Obi-Wan’s breathing as he slept in the other bunk did nothing to ease the rapid spinning of Qui-Gon’s thoughts. He tried not to toss and turn, lest he wake Obi-Wan, but nothing he did seemed to ease his mind and allow him to drift off.

In his mind, he played the previous night over and over again, focusing on the few blurry moments he could remember before Ben left, Ben’s words echoing in his ears.

_“Go back to sleep.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

Except, had he really heard that last one? Qui-Gon wasn’t sure. Did Ben really say those words, so thick with regret and finality? Surely not.

Qui-Gon sighed and rolled onto his side, pillowing his head in the crook of his elbow. Wishful thinking was a dangerous game. Suddenly his chest felt too tight. Why had Ben left like that? Why hadn’t he waited until the morning? He hadn’t even left a note, like he normally did if he was gone before Qui-Gon woke.

Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut, caught off guard by the swell of emotions. What if something had gone wrong? What if―

What if he never saw Ben again?

The thought came out of nowhere, but it met its mark. Qui-Gon swallowed, trying to pull back the new panic clawing at his chest, trying to get back to a place where he could centre himself.

_Thud_

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, caught off guard at the sudden sensation against his chest. Fumbling in the darkness, he pulled the crystal out from where it sat, forgotten, under his tunics. His eyes widened.

The crystal was _glowing_.

_Thud. Thud thud._

Softly, not so bright that it hurt his eyes, but there was no doubt, the crystal was glowing a gently, pulsing pink light. And it was warm, in Qui-Gon’s hand. Bewildered, Qui-Gon held it in front of his nose.

_Thud thud. Thud thud._

It was pulsing. Not just the light, but the actual crystal too. A steady beat that Qui-Gon could against is palm, almost like a…

Like a heartbeat.

Just what _was_ this thing? Qui-Gon had never heard of any kind of rock or crystal that acted like this, Force sensitive or otherwise.

But…it was oddly soothing.

A yawn crept up on him, making his jaw crack. Making a note to do some research after the mission was over, Qui-Gon tucked the crystal back into his tunic, where it thrummed against his skin. Suddenly, he found himself struggling against leaden eyelids, and he gave in, another yawn washing over him.

Between the gentle warmth and the steady, pulsing rhythm pressing against his skin, with his eyes closed Qui-Gon found he could almost imagine he was holding Ben in his arms. In the final moment, before sleep finally overwhelmed, he almost thought he could feel his presence in the Force, soft as a caress.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon woke the following morning feeling better rested than he had in weeks.

“I suppose I you to thank for that,” he said, checking that Ben’s crystal still hung in its place around his neck. The crystal gave no response, and Qui-Gon tucked it away again with a quiet laugh. Best not let Obi-Wan hear him talking to a rock, or he would think Qui-Gon was going senile, or else tease him mercilessly for moving on from talking to plants to stones.

Obi-Wan was already awake when Qui-Gon emerged from the cramped sleeping quarters. The young man sat cross-legged on one of the pitifully padded benches in the tiny ship galley, both of his hands wrapped tightly around a mug, the contents of which sent strands of translucent steam curling up into his face.

“Careful, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, as he made his way over to the pot. “If you wrap yourself any tighter around that cup, we may never be able to separate you two.”

“Urghh,” Obi-Wan groaned, not even raising his head to look Qui-Gon’s way.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic response. “Are you well, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan sighed and yawned before he finally looked up to offer Qui-Gon a weak smile. “I’m alright, Master. Just didn’t sleep well.”

Immediately, Qui-Gon’s thoughts flicked back to the crystal, and its odd light and vibration. “I was restless last night. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It wasn’t you, Master,” he said, pausing to practically bury half his face in his mug for a few moments. “I just had…odd dreams.”

Frowning, Qui-Gon moved to sit beside his student, all thoughts of tea forgotten. “Were they visions?” he asked, laying a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and squeezing gently. Obi-Wan had only begun to develop a talent for prescience a few years into his apprenticeship. It was a talent that had always left Qui-Gon feeling a little out of his depth. For Qui-Gon, firmly rooted in the Living Force as he was, Obi-Wan’s natural affinity with the Unifying Force and the visions that came with it, were something he had never fully understood. Qui-Gon rarely regretted his focus in the Living Force; but times like this, when he could barely begin to imagine what Obi-Wan was experiencing, let alone help him, he did find himself wishing he had listened to Dooku, just a little more.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’m not sure. They felt so real…but I haven’t had visions while I sleep in years.” He scowled down at the dark red tea in his mug, heavily steeped and highly caffeinated.

Qui-Gon patted his shoulder companionable. “If you remember more, tell me. I will do my best to help you.”

Obi-Wan leaned into the touch with a quiet sigh, relief flickering across his face. “Thank you, Master.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “That’s what I’m here for, youngling.” He sighed, melancholy washing over him as the thought he had been—if he was being honest with himself—avoiding for the past few weeks, poked its head out and made itself known. Giving Obi-Wan’s shoulder another squeeze, Qui-Gon let go. “Though, I suppose you’ll not be needing me soon.”

Obi-Wan looked at him, as Qui-Gon rose to his feet and cross to the counter to fill his cup again. When Qui-Gon looked back, there was a frown creasing the young man’s face.

“Master?”

Qui-Gon hesitated. Surely Obi-Wan understood what he meant? But perhaps not, because there was only confusion and, to Qui-Gon’s horror, the tiniest bit of hurt in his Padawan’s gaze. He hurried to sit down again and set his tea down on the table in front of them so he could turn his attention fully to his student.

“You ought to have been Knighted last year, maybe the year before that,” Qui-Gon said, settling a hand lightly on Obi-Wan’s knee where it bumped against his own, an offer of the physical comfort he knew his Padawan often needed but rarely asked for. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked down, and then darted back up to meet Qui-Gon’s gaze. A tiny, grateful smile appeared on his lips, some of the tension leaking away, and Qui-Gon knew the move had been the right one. But still, Obi-Wan shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s―”

Qui-Gon shook his head, cutting off the self-deprecation. “Have I ever lied to you, Obi-Wan?” The arched eyebrow he received made him sigh and roll his eyes. “Have I ever lied to you outside of a mission or life and death situation?”

“Well…”

Obi-Wan’s lips were twitching now, fighting the cheeky grin Qui-Gon knew was lurking just under the surface. The imp. Qui-Gon heaved a sigh and Obi-Wan laughed. “Alright, alright. You wouldn’t lie to me about something like this, Master. I know that.”

Qui-Gon nodded, matching Obi-Wan’s grin with his own. Obi-Wan’s laughter had done the trick. The air between them felt lighter and clearer now, and the tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders was almost gone. “Thank you. Now, if I may continue?”

Obi-Wan snickered and made _by-your-leave_ gesture. Qui-Gon smiled fondly, and then cleared his throat.

“You ought to have been Knighted a year ago,” he said again, watching as Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked from his own, lower, and then to the patch of wall behind Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “You’ve been ready since then, if not before.”

Silence greeted his words, but Qui-Gon could feel the questions on the tip of Obi-Wan’s tongue in the air between them, in the tension in his shoulders. He sighed and tugged the tie free from the end of the braid he put his hair into for sleep, running calloused fingers through the tangled strands.

“I…didn’t know how to let you go,” he admitted finally, words soft but still managing to sound loud as a thunderclap in the relative quite that surrounded him and his Padawan. Slowly he looked up and met Obi-Wan’s shocked gaze with a small, self-deprecating smile. “You are very dear to me, Padawan, and I have gotten…bad at change, in my old age.”

“You aren’t that old, Master,” Obi-Wan said weakly.

Qui-Gon laughed. “Ah, the words of the young.” He reached out, cupping Obi-Wan’s chin and smiled at the young man. “I am incredibly proud of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You will be a brilliant Jedi Knight, and it has been the greatest honour to teach you.”

Feeling Obi-Wan’s smile echo around them in the Force at that, Qui-Gon decided, made every ache, pain, and heartbreak leading up to this point worth it.

 

* * *

 

Of course, things could never run smoothly, especially not on a mission like this. Being shot at was less of a surprise than it really ought to have been, but the poison gas and battle droids were…unexpected, to say the least.

“I _told_ you I had a bad feeling about this!” Obi-Wan grunted, deflecting another volley of shots back at the on-coming droids. “I told you!”

“Yes, thank you, Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon growled, cursing as he heard the sound of blast doors closing on the other side of the door he was cutting through. Pulling back, he thrust his blade into the metal as far as he could, cursing the Trade Federation as he did so.

“Master! Destroyers!” Obi-Wan shouted. Qui-Gon heard it too, the tell-tale sound of metal rolling on metal. Wonderful. Just wonderful. Pulling back, he spun around and moved to stand beside his Padawan as they blocked the on-coming blasts.

“They have shield generators,” Obi-Wan noted, frustration adding an edge to his words. Qui-Gon grunted a reply.

“Enough of this. Come on, the vents.”

 

* * *

 

Naboo would be a lovely planet to visit, Qui-Gon decided, under other circumstances. Circumstances that did not include: hitching a ride planet-side on battle-droid transports, nearly being squashed by a tank to save a local, being unable to get rid of said local (though in Jar Jar’s defense, he had ended up being rather helpful), and ending up leaving the planet on the run. Qui-Gon sighed as he turned away from the main view screen. This mission was becoming a much bigger headache than anticipated.

He turned to Obi-Wan, already sitting at the nav-computer. “We need somewhere to set down. Somewhere close but outside of the Trade Federation’s reach.”

Obi-Wan nodded, already flicking through the near-by systems. “We’re short on options I’m afraid, but…here. Tatooine.”

“Tatooine?! That’s Hutt controlled space!” Captain Panaka spluttered. The man looked outraged. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to sigh.

“We may not have any other choice, Captain. We need to fix the hyperdrive, and get back to Coruscant as soon as possible.”

For a moment, Qui-Gon thought the other man was going to argue. But then the Captain sighed and nodded, even as his frown never wavered. “Alright. But I don’t like it.”

Qui-Gon nodded, and then turned back to Obi-Wan. “I must speak with the Queen. Padawan, stay here and keep an eye on things?”

Obi-Wan glanced up from his screen and nodded. “Yes, Master. I will let you know if anything changes.”

Nodding again, Qui-Gon turned and ducked out the door of the cockpit. Like it did in so many ships he had been on in his life-time, the tightness of the hallways and rooms left Qui-Gon feeling over-sized and ungainly, at risk of bashing his various limbs or his head into walls or doorways at any given moment. Sighing, he turned down a hallway towards the central living space of the ship.

Something warm pulsed against his chest.

Qui-Gon stopped, raising a hand to the spot with a frown. He felt it again. Reaching into his tunics, Qui-Gon pulled out Ben’s crystal. It was glowing faintly, the light nowhere near as strong as it had been that first night, but it was still warm, and pulsing gently in the centre of Qui-Gon’s palm.

Qui-Gon frowned at it. “Just what are you trying to tell me, Ben?” he murmured.

The crystal’s glow flickered, spiking brightly and making the Force around him thrum. Qui-Gon stared at it. He…had not actually expected a response.

Hesitating, he asked, “Ben?”

The crystal flickered again, and the Force’s thrumming intensified, tugging at him. Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon exhaled slowly and let himself sink into the currents and eddies that surrounded him, let them pull him where they would.

It wasn’t a strong pull, but it was there, and it was insistent. It guided Qui-Gon down past the rooms he had been heading to, back to the quarters he and Obi-Wan had been given. There, it released him, and began to circle Qui-Gon’s pack where is sat against the wall. Then, it faded, the crystal going cool and still against Qui-Gon skin once again.

“Just what are you trying to tell me?” Qui-Gon asked the empty air. He received no answer, so, with a sigh, he knelt and began pulling things out of his pack.

He found nothing that he did not remember putting in himself; basic med kit, aqua breather, rations, some basic tools. His commlink and holoprojector were already on his belt, with space remaining for the necessities should he need to drop extra weight and move fast. All that remained in the bag was the extra robe he had taken to packing when he could, a habit he had acquired somewhere early in Obi-Wan’s third year as his apprentice, and that—

Qui-Gon’s hand found something solid. Pushing aside the robe, he pulled out what revealed itself to be credit pouch. Made of thick but durable leather, it was larger than Qui-Gon’s cupped palms, it’s contents making soft chinking noises when he moved it. A piece of flimsi was pinned to it, with familiar, steady script written on it.

 

              **You will need this. They don’t accept Republic credits. Take it with you.  
              Trust me, Qui-Gon. It’s important.**

**Ben**

 

Qui-Gon frowned at the note, unusually curt and to the point, even for Ben. Then he opened the pouch. Gold glinted up at him, and Qui-Gon’s frown deepened. Peggats, Hutt currency. Qui-Gon hadn’t even considered that somewhere this far in the Outer Rim might not accept Republic credits, and he highly doubted the Queen of Naboo just happened to keep Hutt money on hand. But still…

How had Ben known they would end up on Tatooine? Even if he was from the future, like he had said, he couldn’t be from so recent a future that he would know about the detail of Qui-Gon’s mission. The ages, the information Qui-Gon had been given, as scant as it was, did not match up. There was no Ben Lars in the Temple records yet, Qui-Gon had checked.

And yet, somehow, Ben had known about this mission, and something about it had…not scared him, that wasn’t it. Ben hadn’t seemed scared, just…

Hopeless. Hollow.

A shudder rocked through Qui-Gon, and he swallowed as the unease that had been flickering around him since they fled Naboo spiked. Carefully, he closed the pouch and returned it to his bag, covering it with the robe. The note, he folded and put into his belt pouch as he rose to his feet.

Meditate. He needed to meditate.

 

* * *

 

Tatooine was a sand strewn waste-land, as far as Qui-Gon could see. Nothing but endless stretches of sand dunes, aggressive sun, and harsh winds that tossed up the sand and whipped Qui-Gon’s hair into his face again and again.

“You’re scowling,” Obi-Wan said lightly, walking up behind Qui-Gon where he stood at the open gangplank.

Qui-Gon continued to glare as he fought to gather up all his hair and smooth it back into an under-control tail. “I ought to just shave it all off,” he groused, gratefully accepting the tie Obi-Wan was already holding out for him. “Just like Micah always threatens.”

Obi-Wan’s laughter was bright and uplifting, off-setting the dark clouds of worry that had settled over Qui-Gon’s mind. “Please don’t do that. Tahl would be horrified, and I would cry.”

Qui-Gon scoffed, shooting his student a skeptical look. “It would hardly be that much a tragedy, Obi-Wan. It’s just hair, and greying at that.”

“It’s beautiful hair,” Obi-Wan argued. “It makes you look like someone from Pre-Ruusan myth. Very charming.”

His eyes were dancing with mischief, but there was something else in the young man’s gaze that gave Qui-Gon pause. Inexplicably, he was reminded of a conversation he’d had with Ben, a few years back:

_“I’m going grey,” Qui-Gon huffed, peering into the ‘fresher room mirror and running his fingers through his hair. He scowled at his reflection, and then past it at the reflection of Ben standing behind him, naked but for the towel around his waist and his hair still damp, laughing. “Enough out of you, Mr. Unaging.”_

_“I’m sorry, Love,” Ben said, still chuckling. He walked up and wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon’s waist, leaning against his bare back and resting his chin on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “Besides, I think it suits you. Makes you look very suave. Charming even.”_

_“I think you’re just flattering me,” Qui-Gon grumbled, fighting a smile._

_Ben’s grin was slow and satisfied. It reminded Qui-Gon of a large cat on the hunt, and sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Perhaps. Did it work?”_

_Qui-Gon laughed and turned in Ben’s arms to kiss him. “I think it did.”_

“Master?”

Qui-Gon blinked, jumping when a hand squeezed his arm. Obi-Wan was still standing beside him, but now he was frowning at Qui-Gon.

“Are you alright, Master? You looked…odd, for a moment.”

Qui-Gon frowned at the younger man for a moment, bewildered at the path his brain had taken. When Obi-Wan’s frown deepened, Qui-Gon realized he still had not answered. He coughed, and shook his head.

“I’m alright,” he said, a little gruff. “Just…”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I understand,” he said, looking away from Qui-Gon and out into the unchanging Tatooine landscape, just as Qui-Gon had been doing earlier. “This mission….it’s making me uneasy. There is something going on, but I can’t quite figure out what it is.”

Obi-Wan scratched the back of his neck, a tiny, frustrated frown twisting his lips. Watching him, Qui-Gon was struck yet again by the reality that Obi-Wan was an _adult_ now. Despite his earlier words, Qui-Gon had still not quite come to terms with the fact that, once this mission was over, he would need to Knight his Padawan.

‘You always knew this would come eventually,’ he thought. ‘You always knew that you would need to let him go eventually. He was never going to stay a child forever.’

Pride squeezed Qui-Gon’s heart. He really was so incredibly proud of his Padawan.

Obi-Wan sighed, and turned away from the desert. “So, what are we going to do?” he asked.

“We need parts for the hyperdrive,” Qui-Gon said, turning and walking back into the ship proper, knowing Obi-Wan would follow. His thoughts drifted to pouch, and the note. **“They don’t accept Republic credits,”** Ben had said. Somehow, he had known they would need to buy things on Tatooine. But so much money, just for a motivator and some other parts? Surely they wouldn’t need that much. Qui-Gon had counted the gifted funds, once he had felt centered again. Ben had given them a truly obscene amount of money. Perhaps…perhaps he did not know the specifics, and had not wanted to underestimate?

Somehow, Qui-Gon did not think that was the case.

“According to Artoo’s maps, there’s a town not too far from here,” Obi-Wan said.

“Artoo?” Qui-Gon asked, glancing at him. The tips of Obi-Wan’s ears went red.

“R2D2. The astromech that fixed the shields. The Queen and her handmaidens have gotten rather fond of him.”

Qui-Gon smiled to himself. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones. “I see. It’s not ideal, and Panaka won’t like it, but I’m afraid it might be our only option.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I think you might be right.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “I almost wish I weren’t, Padawan.” He smiled ruefully at his student. “Shall we go break the news to her Majesty?”

 

* * *

 

Though Qui-Gon had hoped for a small party, it seemed that such was not to be. To be perfectly honest, he had planned to just take the astromech and go alone, but Obi-Wan had apparently caught the thought before it had even finished forming, and scowled at him.

“I’m going with you.”

Qui-Gon shook his head a little. “You are a skilled mechanic, Obi-Wan. It would make more sense for you to remain here on the ship and see what can be salvaged.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and stared up at Qui-Gon, his serene expression at odds with the unyielding stubbornness in his eyes. Just for a moment, Qui-Gon’s mind played tricks on him, replacing his Padawan’s face with that of another; older, more lined and worn, but with the same shifting eyes and hair a shade or two more blond with age and sun. Then he blinked, and the illusion vanished, leaving behind only Obi-Wan once again. Qui-Gon blinked again, and then shook his head. The heat must be playing tricks on him, this was the second time he had looked at Obi-Wan and seen Ben. Perhaps he ought to make an appointment with a Mind Healer when they returned to the Temple. It had been a while since he had last felt the need to go, not since they nearly lost Tahl, but perhaps he ought to now. He ought to be able to release his anxieties about Ben, but…well. Healer Sanj’e had told him to expect difficulties in letting go, as he healed. Qui-Gon had thought himself past that but…

“Master?”

Obi-Wan was still staring at him, stubbornness giving way to concern. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Qui-Gon blinked, and then shook his head. “No. No, I’m alright.”

Rather than reassure, Qui-Gon’s words only made Obi-Wan’s frown deepen. “Are you sure?” he asked, crossing is arms over his chest. “You’ve been acting strangely since we left the Temple. At first, I thought it was something about the mission, but you keep becoming…distracted? Unfocused.”

Qui-Gon restrained a wince. Somehow, he had thought he had been more subtle then that. Apparently not.

“It’s nothing, Obi-Wan. I promise you, I’m fine.”

“Master―”

“Padawan.” Qui-Gon’s voice was firm, but kind. He reached out and squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Let it go. I promise, I’m working it out. When this mission is over…we can talk, alright? After the mission.”

Obi-Wan squinted at him for a moment, clearly suspicious. Then he sighed, and nodded. “Alright, Master. After the mission. Just…Master Micah and Master Tahl aren’t here. So…talk to me? If you need it?”

Qui-Gon smiled and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his student’s hair. What had he done, to be so lucky as to train such a wonderful student? “I will, Obi-Wan. Thank you.”

Obi-Wan leaned into him for a moment, and then pulled back, eyes firm when he met Qui-Gon’s gaze.

“I’m still coming with you.”

“Obi-Wan―”

“You say you’re fine, but if you lose focus like that at the wrong time, you could get yourself killed.” Obi-Wan’s voice was firm, and for a moment he sounded like an older man. He would be a good teacher—of that, Qui-Gon was certain. He was also certain that this was one battle he would not win. Sure, Qui-Gon could order Obi-Wan to stay on the ship, but his Padawan made a good point.

Qui-Gon sighed softly, and nodded his head once, readjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

“Alright. You may come.”

“Thank you, Master.” Despite his word, the look on Obi-Wan’s face was calm and utterly unsurprised, as he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe, as if there had never been any other option. Qui-Gon resisted another sigh, suddenly certain that he would be unable to get away with anything again once Obi-Wan’s braid was cut.

“I suppose you are ready to leave then?”

At Obi-Wan’s nod, Qui-Gon straightened, looking around for the astromech. As if called, R2D2 came rolling into the room. The little droid made a beeline for the two Jedi, and his beeping, Qui-Gon noticed, was noticeably irritated. A moment later, Jar Jar entered the room on R2D2’s tail.

“Meesa want to come too!”

This time, Qui-Gon did sigh, but chose not to fight it. He wanted off this planet, and the sooner they found the replacement pieces they needed, the sooner that would happen. If that meant he was followed around by a Gungan, then so be it.

“Alright, fine. But we are leaving. Now.”

He turned, not waiting for a response, and stalked down the open gangplank into the scorching sun and heat of Tatooine. Moments later, he felt Obi-Wan’s presence at his elbow, and could hear the droid and Jar Jar not far behind.

“Wait! Wait!”

Qui-Gon slowed to a halt and closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly, and then turned to face the two figures approaching them from the ship. Captain Panaka, and one of her handmaidens – Padmé, Qui-Gon believed her name was. Thankfully, the girl was no longer dressed in the eye-catching robes of the Queen’s handmaidens, having swapped them instead for a soft blue tunic and darker skirt.

“The Queen commands you take her handmaiden with you,” Panaka said, gesturing to the girl. Qui-Gon looked between them, his eyes narrowing. Did they really think he hadn’t realized?

To her credit, Padme did not flinch, just met his gaze steadily. Qui-Gon sighed, an argument already on his tongue, when he noticed Obi-Wan shift out of the corner of his eye.

_‘Padawan? What did you see?’_

_‘I think…I think we should bring her with us, Master.’_

Qui-Gon pursed his lips, debating, but Obi-Wan’s words tugged at him. He sighed again. “Alright. But stay close,” he said, address the young queen. “This spaceport is going to be rough. If we are lucky.”

The girl’s expression reminded Qui-Gon eerily of Master Nu for a moment. “And if we aren’t?”

“Then the Trade Federation might be the least of our problems,” Obi-Wan replied.

 

* * *

 

They were…actually lucky. The spaceport was indeed rough, filled with the particularly eclectic array of characters that was only found in backwater areas like this. They ranged from unsavory to purely unlucky, and seemed to thrive under Hutt control. That being said, their group was paid little attention as they moved through the crowds, something for which Qui-Gon was incredibly grateful.

With a few carefully asked for directions, it was not long until they found themselves approaching a squat building surrounded by piles upon piles of…junk. There were no customers that Qui-Gon could see, but something about the structure made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Beside him, he heard Obi-Wan let out a low whistle.

“What is it, Master?”

“I am…not sure.” Qui-Gon admitted, uneasy. He didn’t like this. Something about this planet, this entire situation, felt _wrong_ , but he still could not pin down the cause. It was infuriating.  He stopped, turning to look at the others. “Let Obi-Wan and me do the talking,” he said, ignoring the way Padme’s face twisted with disapproval, in favor of glaring at Jar Jar. “And don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Jar Jar’s bewildered protests were lost on him as Qui-Gon turned, and set off to the shop.

Inside the building was surprisingly cool, and dimly lit, with only a few spotty lights and the natural light filtering in through the door, and a couple tiny, junk-filled windows. As Qui-Gon ducked through the doorway, a sensor went off, triggering a high-pitched whine of a door chime that cut through the relative silence of the store like a blade. As with outside, the store was empty of life, except for the older looking Toydarian who had risen up from what Qui-Gon supposed must be the purchasing counter, at the sound of the bell.

“Good day to you!” he called, one of the few Huttese phrases Qui-Gon could actually recognize, bobbing and dipping through the air towards them. His voice was as gruff as his appearance. “What do you want?”

Qui-Gon took a step forward, making it clear he was the leader of the group. “We need parts, for a J type 327 Nubian.”

“Ah yes, Nubian! We have lots of that!” the Toydarian crowed, the universal glint of a salesman in his eyes. Turning, he shouted something in Huttese, the translation of which was lost on Qui-Gon. Out of the corner of his eye, however Qui-Gon noticed Obi-Wan’s eyebrow go up, a tell the young man had never managed to lose. Surprise.

“My droid has a read-out of what we need,” he said, wondering just what the Toydarian had said.

Qui-Gon had his answer a moment later, when a young boy with sandy hair and rough, homespun clothes came running through a door with sunlight streaming through it, perhaps leading to a courtyard or storage space of some sort. As he drew closer and the Toydarian began to, from his tone, berate the boy, Qui-Gon caught what Obi-Wan had already realized.

Slaves. Of course, how could he have forgotten? The Hutts ran one of the largest slave rings in the known galaxy. Of course, it would be a part of any Hutt-ruled society.

Despite that, the boy did not appear too concerned at his owner’s rebuke, responding in the same language as he clambered up onto the counter to sit. For his part, the Toydarian, clearly having finished whatever instructions he had given the boy, turned back to Qui-Gon, who was carefully keeping his face neutral.

“Let me take you out back, huh? We’ll find what you need.”

Qui-Gon shot a quick glance at Obi-Wan, who nodded, and then turned to head off Jar Jar from whatever chaos he was no doubt about to spark. Satisfied that none of his party would accidentally destroy the shop in his or its owner’s absence, Qui-Gon turned and followed the Toydarian out to the back, Artoo at his heels.

Watto, as Qui-Gon learned the Toydarian was called, did have most of the parts they needed on hand, and for what, with a bit of hand waving, Qui-Gon could almost call a decent price. The motivator had taken a bit of haggling, but eventually they had struck a deal, and Qui-Gon had paid for the parts with the credits Ben had provided him, careful not to let Watto see any but the ones he was being given. As a Jedi, Qui-Gon rarely carried much currency on his person, and even after completing his transaction with Watto, the amount of peggat still remaining in the pouch would have made anyone nervous.

It was growing late, but the time Qui-Gon and Watto returned to the interior of the shop, transactions complete but for actually moving the items to the ship. Upon first glance, the shop seemed to be empty, until Qui-Gon heard laughter from across the room.

They found Padme, Obi-Wan, Jar Jar, and the boy sitting on the floor behind the counter. Jar Jar appeared to be telling a story, and was gesticulating wildly as he spoke. It seemed like inane babble to Qui-Gon, but the boy was giggling helplessly, arms wrapped around his stomach. Even Padme and Obi-Wan seemed amused, though Qui-Gon got the sense it was more due to the boy’s mirth than any particularly narrative skills Jar Jar happened to possess.

The boy’s laughter was cut short as they approached, and he scrambled to his feet as Watto snapped at him in rapid-fire Huttese.

 _What is he saying?_ Qui-Gon asked, without looking at Obi-Wan.

 _That we just made a very big purchase, so Anakin is to help get our things onto a gravsled, and then he can go home,_ Obi-Wan replied, without missing a beat. _The wording was less polite, but that was the gist of it._

_His name is Anakin?_

_Yes, Master._

It was as if the name were a catalyst, or a switch. No sooner had Qui-Gon thought it when Anakin began to practically glow in the Force. It was all Qui-Gon could do not to gape in shock. How had he not noticed before?!

 _His natural shielding is incredible,_ Obi-Wan murmured, somewhere in the back of Qui-Gon’s mind. _It took almost a half hour of conversation before I noticed. But Master, he_ —

 _Yes, I remember too._ Anakin; they had both heard that name before, years ago, on a mission to Kalen VII. It had belonged to a young man with a Force presence unlike anything Qui-Gon had ever encountered. Until now.

It had belonged to Ben’s Padawan.

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to growl in sheer frustration. Another piece of the ever-growing puzzle, and yet the whole was no clearer to him than before. If anything, it was more clouded.

‘Ben, when I see you again, we are going to have words,’ he thought, forcing himself to center and calm.

When. Not if. Qui-Gon would see Ben again, if he had to fight the Force itself.

But he could not think about that right now. He had a mission to focus on, and a Queen to protect. Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon looked down to find Anakin already moving to load the gravsled with their purchases. Obi-Wan caught his eye, and at Qui-Gon’s nod, hurried to help.

 

* * *

 

The light was growing low as the ragtag group, plus one more and a gravsled, finally made their way out of Watto’s junk shop. Qui-Gon walked at the front, guiding the sled, Obi-Wan a silent presence at his side. Padme and Anakin trailed behind them, chattering happily and occasionally grabbing Jar Jar to keep him from walking into things. Their conversation made for pleasant background noise, but Qui-Gon did not feel calm. His earlier unease had grown, a constant presence in his mind like the sweat that dripped down the back of his neck.

“Something is coming,” Obi-Wan murmured. His words were nearly lost on Qui-Gon, little more than a murmur of breath. Qui-Gon glanced and him and nodded.

“I feel it too.”

Obi-Wan’s expression was somber. It made him look older than his twenty-five years.

“What is it?”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment. “I wish I knew.”

“Master Jinn!”

The two Jedi stopped, turning as one to meet Padme as she ran to catch up to them, Anakin and Jar Jar close on her heels.

“Is something wrong?” Qui-Gon asked. The disguised Queen was frowning, and even Anakin looked worried.

“Anakin says there is a sandstorm coming.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, turning his gaze to the boy at her side, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Is that right?”

Anakin nodded. “Yes Sir, Master Jedi! I can feel it!”

Qui-Gon could feel his own surprise reflected in his bond with Obi-Wan. “You can? And who told you we were Jedi?”

Obi-Wan’s surprised shifted into guilt, before it was quickly smothered. Anakin was still nodding. “Yes Sir. Mom says it’s ‘cause we’re desert folk. And Obi-Wan told me!”

Qui-Gon glanced at his Padawan, only just managing to hide his amusement as Obi-Wan squirmed, just a little.

“In my defense, Master, he guessed. I just…confirmed his suspicions.”

His Padawan, ever the diplomat. Qui-Gon allowed him a tiny smile, before turning his attention back to Anakin.

“I see. Is this storm going to cause us trouble, Anakin?”

The boy frowned, considering. “You said your ship is in the Wastes, right?” At Qui-Gon nod, he pursed his lips. “I don’t think you’d be able to make it with enough time to take off before the storm hit.”

“And you wouldn’t have time to get home,” Padme said.

Anakin looked a little surprised to hear her say that, but nodded. “Yeah, probably not.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Continuing on to the ship is too risky, then.”

“We can’t stay out here either, though,” Obi-Wan said.

“You can come home with me!”

They all turned to look Anakin, who stared back earnestly.

“That would be wonderful! Thank you, Anakin!” Padme said, stepping up and smiling at Anakin, thoroughly occupying his attention. He grinned up at her.

 _H_ e’s _quite attached to her, isn’t he?_ Qui-Gon sent.

 _He’s a child, and you can’t deny she’s beautiful._ Obi-Wan replied. _Besides, I think she likes him too._

_He’s a child!_

_Not like that, Master. I think she’s fond of him._

_Hmm._

“Are you sure that would be alright, Ani?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin nodded, turning his grin on the Padawan.

“Yeah, Mom won’t mind!”

The Force around Anakin was a brilliant, glowing storm, and it whispered and plucked at Qui-Gon, reminding him of the crystal, and the pouch of money.

“Alright then, lead the way, Anakin.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin led them to a small house, built low to the ground in the same style and material as most of the other buildings in and around the spaceport.

 _Judging by the other buildings, this must be the slave quarter,_ Obi-Wan sent as they walked, his mental voice heavy with distance. Qui-Gon could only agree. Slavery. How could something so vile be thriving just on the edge of Republic space?

“Come on!” Anakin said, waving them cheerfully towards the squat door before turning and entering himself. “Mom! I’m home! And I brought friends!”

Following Anakin, with both Qui-Gon and Jar Jar ducking to fit through the door, they saw a woman appear out of a doorway at the sound of Anakin’s voice. She was shorter, around Obi-Wan’s height, perhaps a little taller but not by much, and looked to be maybe a decade or so younger than Qui-Gon, but her face was lined and careworn. But her eyes were kind, and she smiled warmly at the rag-tag group her son had brought home.

“Their ship is broken and there’s a storm coming in! They came into Watto’s shop earlier, but their ship is too far away to get back before the storm.” Anakin explained, running up to hug the woman tightly around the waist. “So I told them they could spend the night here. They can, right?”

The woman hugged him back. “Of course they can, Ani. It was very good of you to ask them.” Straightening, she looked at her new guests. “Hello.”

Qui-Gon bowed, knowing without looking that Obi-Wan was bowing too. “Hello. My name is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. This is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, as well as Padme Amidala and Jar Jar Binks of Naboo.”

“And the droid is Artoo!” Anakin said, tugging on his mother’s sleeve in excitement. The droid beeped happily at him for the inclusion.

“We are very grateful for your hospitality on such short notice,” Obi-Wan said, straightening and slipping his hands into the sleeves of his robes. The woman smiled.

“It is no trouble. My name is Shmi Skywalker.”

Qui-Gon blinked, looking from Shmi to Anakin, and back again. He was less surprised then he perhaps should have been, however.

“Is something wrong, Master Jedi?” Shmi asked.

“I― no.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “Pardon me, I was just surprised. I believe I might have met an Anakin Skywalker before, though he was far older than you, Anakin.”

“That is not impossible,” Shmi said. “My people were once a prosperous trading clan. It would not be hard to believe that others are still alive.”

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, realizing abruptly that he had stumbled onto something very personal, and sad. “My apologies, Lady Skywalker.”

But she shook her head. “None are needed, Master Jedi. And please, Shmi will be fine.”

Qui-Gon smiled and dipped his head. “And I am Qui-Gon.”

 

* * *

 

Latemeal was a pleasant affair. Obi-Wan had offered to help Shmi with the cooking, smoothly interfering with any thoughts Qui-Gon might have had of doing the same. It was probably for the best. A case of food poisoning was hardly the way to thank one’s host.

Anakin and Padme had remerged at Shmi’s call, the boy showing the young queen where their dishes were kept. Much of it, and indeed much of their cookware, was a patchwork of metals and pieces of various broken dishes, soldered and glued together into something new and usable. Much of it held a touch of Anakin’s Force, but, Qui-Gon noted with interest, not all. It was clear Shmi was no null, though her power was easily overshadowed by her son’s. It was not until Qui-Gon turned his focus solely to her, forcing himself to ignore the supernova that was Anakin that he could see just how brightly Shmi shone.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Qui-Gon said, as the meal began to wind down, “is Anakin’s father no longer with you?”

Silence fell. Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan’s eyes boring into him. For her part, Shmi looked at him for a moment, before carefully setting her cup down and folding her hands in her lap.

“He has no father. Or at least, none that I ever knew.” Her voice was calm and utterly neutral, and there was something about her words that felt…chosen. Tailored.

Qui-Gon’s instinct was to push, to keep asking questions until he was presented with a satisfying answer, but something about the expression on Shmi’s face, the guarded look in her eyes, left him silent. He nodded, bowing his head slightly.

“I see. Please, accept my apologies. My question was thoughtless and rude.”

She nodded, as regal as any queen Qui-Gon had ever met. “No apologies are need, Master Jinn, but I appreciate them nevertheless.”

As if that were his cue, Anakin turned to Obi-Wan and Padme, and began to question them eagerly about the type of ship they arrived it. The boy’s enthusiasm seemed to brush away the tension that had filled the room at Qui-Gon’s own thoughtless query, and he couldn’t help a tiny smile as he leaned back in his chair, thinking.

He could feel Obi-Wan’s eyes on him, and ignored it.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for Obi-Wan to find him. Qui-Gon smiled ruefully, even as he heard Obi-Wan’s approaching footsteps.

“What are you doing, Master?”

“Enjoying the stars, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, not turning his gaze away from the sky. “For all the sand, the night sky here is breathtaking.”

He heard Obi-Wan sigh, and then out of the corner of his eyes, saw Obi-Wan sit down beside him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?”

Another sigh, and Qui-Gon found himself fighting a grin. Silence hung pregnant between them for a moment, then Obi-Wan let out an irritated huff. “You are impossible.”

Qui-Gon finally looked at him, and his smile slipped a little at the frown on Obi-Wan’s face.

“Obi-Wan-“

Obi-Wan shook his head. “What are you doing? I saw Anakin on my way here. I know you took his count. What are you planning, Master?”

Qui-Gon hesitated, and then turned his gaze back out to the stars.  Obi-Wan sighed. “Master, you’ve been even tenser since we met him, and I know it’s because of...last time.”

“So you think they are the same?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I don’t know!” Qui-Gon winced, he could hear Obi-Wan’s frustration beginning to bubble over. “They have the same name, they feel the same, but that should be impossible! The Anakin Skywalker we met was an adult, a Knight.”

Qui-Gon nodded. Slowly, he turned so he was sitting on an angle to face Obi-Wan. “I haven’t told you everything about Ben, Padawan,” he admitted.

Obi-Wan met his eyes and raised an eyebrow, expectant.

“He told me…some time ago…that he is not from our time.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “I- huh. That’s….I would say impossible…but it would explain some things.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “That’s what I said too.”

“But then…are they the same? Ani and Knight Skywalker?”

Qui-Gon folded his hands in his lap and stared at them. “I’m not sure. It’s possible.”

“But then…” Obi-Wan frowned, pensive. “Wouldn’t a younger Ben be in the Temple now?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Not that I could find, and I’ve been looking for…decades now.”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened. “Master…”

Qui-Gon shook his head again and cleared his throat. “On the other hand, it could be that passing on names is a Tatooine tradition. Or a slave one,” he said, lowering his voice a little. “It’s been suggested that Force sensitivity can be genetic. Passed on from parent to child. So this Anakin could also be ancestor of the Anakin we met before.”

Obi-Wan nodded his agreement. “So…you’re taking his count because…?”

“You can feel him as well as I can,” Qui-Gon said. “He’s strong, Obi-Wan. Too strong to leave untrained. He needs to go to the Temple.”

“He’s almost ten, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said. “The Council will never allow it.”

“They can’t afford to not allow it.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Why must you always fight them, Master? They are on the Council for a reason!”

“They are blind at the best of times.”

“Master!”

“I think he could be the Chosen One, Obi-Wan!”

Obi-Wan fell silent. For a moment, he just stared at Qui-Gon, and then he sighed. “Master-“

“Think about it, Obi-Wan. You heard what Shmi said, same as I did.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “You know as well as I do what that could mean.”

“He’s strong, Obi-Wan! Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, and he’s only a child!” Qui-Gon stood up and began to pace. “Besides! Even if he isn’t the Chosen One, he’s Force Sensitive, and he deserves better than this.”

Obi-Wan was silent at that. When Qui-Gon turned to look at him, he was staring out in middle distance, his expression unfocused.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan blinked and then shook his head. “What?”

“Are you alright? Was it a vision?” Qui-Gon asked, sitting back down beside him and laying a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“I’m…not sure,” Obi-Wan said, still looking a little dazed. He shook his head again and rubbed his forehead. “It was just…cold. Dark. I’m not sure. But Master,” he looked at Qui-Gon, and his eyes were worried, “It felt…bad.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Obi-Wan…”

“You said you would listen to me about my visions,” Obi-Wan said softly. Qui-Gon closed his eyes. “I did,” he agreed.

“So listen to me!”

“I am, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon said, opening his eyes and looking at his Padawan. He sighed. “And I believe you, I do. But…” Against his chest, the crystal thudded, spreading a gentle heat. “But I still can’t shake the feeling that this is important. Anakin is important. And besides…we can’t just leave him here.”

“Them.”

“What?”

Obi-Wan sighed, and met Qui-Gon’s eyes. “Them. If we’re freeing Anakin, we’re freeing Shmi too.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Of course.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He still looked unhappy. As Qui-Gon watched, trying to figure out what else to say, he began to shiver.

“Come on, Padawan,” Qui said, standing up and holding out his hand. “Let’s go inside.”

Obi-Wan gave him a tired smile, and took his hand, letting Qui-Gon pulling him to his feet.

“I’ll follow you, Master.”

 

* * *

 

The morning dawned clear and still, the sandstorm having passed during the night. Qui-Gon was the first to rise, and he crept from the tiny front room, careful not to disturb any of his companions.

He returned to the rooftop. It was early still, the cool of the morning having not yet given was to the oppressive heat of the day, but Qui-Gon got the sense it would not remain so for much longer.

Settling himself on the ground, Qui-Gon straightened his spine and closed his eyes, regulating his breathing as he sank into the meditative trance.

The world around him felt calm, in that way of the morning that Qui-Gon never felt on more urbanized planets like Coruscant, but there was an edge of tension to the calm that prickled along Qui-Gon’s spin.

Something was coming.

Qui-Go breathed out, reaching out to the Force for answers.

‘What is it? What are you trying to tell me?’

The Force shivered around him, and Qui-Gon frowned, reaching further. There. Right on the edge of his perception, a point of Darkness. It was strong, pulsing and pacing like a caged creature, but when Qui-Gon moved closer, it went still, focused.

Something like a laugh rang in Qui-Gon’s ears, as the Dark presence focused on him in returned.

_I see you. You will not escape me._

Qui-Gon recoiled, slamming his shields into place and retreating from the meditation as fast as he dared. Eyes snapping open, he stared out at the desert skyline, breathing hard, shaken. He could still feel the echo of the Dark words, and nausea climbed in his throat. He stood.

They needed to leave. Now.

Turning on his heel, Qui-Gon strode back down into the shelter of the Skywalker’s home, mind racing. Anakin and Shmi. They could not leave them, even more so now than before. There was something Dark on this planet, and he could not risk it discovering Anakin. He thought they had enough credits left to secure their freedom, though he had not checked. Now, he would have to hope he was correct.

Obi-Wan was awake when Qui-Gon returned to the main room. He sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes and frowning at Qui-Gon as he came near.

“Master? What’s wrong?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep.

Qui-Gon pursed his lips, and shook his head. “We need to leave. Wake the others, make sure everything is ready.”

To Obi-Wan’s credit, he did not question the orders as he hurried to his feet, straightening his tunics and pulling on his robes. “What are you going to do?”

Qui-Gon could feel his student’s concern, but just shook his head again, the sense of urgency pounding in the back of his mind too strong for him to focus on much else.

“I am going to talk to Watto. I will be back soon.” He turned, striding towards the door, grabbing his pack from the floor as he went.

For a moment, he would have sworn he felt the Force hum with approval that felt like Ben.

 

* * *

 

Something of Qui-Gon’s emotions must have bled into his face or voice, because negotiations with Watto did not take nearly as long as Qui-Gon had expected, and feared. The Toydarian was not pleased to be losing both his slaves, but the credits Qui-Gon gave him were enough to at least quiet his grumbling. He handed over the remotes for Shmi and Anakin’s chips, muttering something about Jedi that Qui-Gon did not focus on enough to listen to, but was no doubt uncomplimentary, and then Qui-Gon was off, back to his companions, unease trailing him, every step of the way.

They were waiting for him when he arrived. Jar Jar seemed oblivious as always, but Shmi and Padme looked uneasy, and Anakin was a quiet presence beside his mother, eyes flickering around, clearly taking in as much information as he could. Only Obi-Wan looked at ease, and Qui-Gon knew it was a matter of appearance only. He was leaning against the wall, just in front of the others, eyes closed, but Qui-Gon could feel him reaching out, scanning the area around them, on alert. He opened his eyes as Qui-Gon approached, and pushed off the wall to step towards him.

“Master?”

Qui-Gon managed a small smile for him, and then for Anakin and Shmi, as he held the remotes out to them.

For a long moment, Shmi did not speak as she stared at the two, tiny devices that had been controlling her life, and the life of her son for longer than Qui-Gon knew. She swallowed, blinking rapidly for a moment; Qui-Gon felt, to his surprise, the woman reach out and center herself, her emotions vanishing smoothly into the Force.

Fascinating. He would have to talk to her about that.

Slowly, her fingers trembling ever so slightly, Shmi took the remotes from Qui-Gon’s hand, watching his face the entire time as if she thought he might snatch them back. Qui-Gon tried to smile reassuringly at her.

“My apologies for not discussing this with you first, Shmi,” he said quietly. “But I fear we must leave this planet as soon as possible, and I think it would be for the best if you and Anakin came with us.”

Shmi said nothing at first, her attention turned to the two remotes. Silence fell, all eyes on her as she carefully inspected them.

“I imputed the deactivation code on my way here,” Qui-Gon offered.

Shmi glanced at him, then back at the remotes. Then she nodded, tucking them carefully into the pocket of her dress. She straightened her shoulders and met Qui-Gon’s gaze unwaveringly.

“Why should we go with you?”

“Something is coming,” Qui-Gon said, holding her gaze as seriously as she held his. “Something Dark. Your son is strong with the Force, stronger than anyone I have ever met. I fear what might happen, if the Darkness I sense is allowed to discover him.” He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “We are travelling to Coruscant. If Anakin wishes,” he glanced at the boy, “and you allow, I would like to have him tested by the Council, and ,ideally, trained. However, we can also offer medical treatment, and have the trackers removed, as well as help to you to get settled, if you do not wish to stay with the Jedi.”

“Why would the Jedi allow me to stay, even if my son is allowed to be trained?”

Qui-Gon smiled, just a little. “Mistress Skywalker, I would bet my own lightsaber that you are just as Force sensitive as I.”

Shmi lifted her chin. “I have been a slave since I was a barely older than Anakin, Master Jinn. I am not like you.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head. “Of course. And it is all your choice. But we, I, would like to help you, both of you, as much as you will allow.”

“You will have a place on Naboo, once it has been freed,” Padme said, stepping forwards to stand beside Qui-Gon, as regal as the Queen she was pretending not to be. Qui-Gon glanced at her, arching an eyebrow, and she seemed to catch herself, quickly adding, “I will speak to the Queen, I have no doubt she will agree with me.”

Shmi looked between them, and then turned to look at Anakin. “Ani? What do you think?”

Anakin frowned up at her, and then looked at Qui-Gon and Padme, then past them to Obi-Wan.

“I…I want to go with them,” he said at last. “It feels right. And I want to be a Jedi! I want to help other people!”

Shmi smiled down at her son, and nodded. “Alright.” She looked back at Qui-Gon. “We will go with you.”

 

* * *

 

The heat was oppressive as they made their way across the sands. It was slow, miserable business, but Qui-Gon had been through worse situations, and at the moment, every step closer to being off the cursed planet was a step he approved of.

Qui-Gon walked at the head of the group, guiding the gravsled of parts, his bigger frame shielding the others from a degree of the harsh, cutting winds. Obi-Wan brought up the rear with Shmi, keeping the other three in the middle. They were making good time, but Qui-Gon couldn’t quite shake the desire to go faster, to push harder.

He could still feel the Darkness following them.

It took another half hour of walking before the ship came into view, and Qui-Gon was ready shout in relief at the sight of it. The Darkness was too close, as if whoever or whatever it was had realized they were fleeing, and begun to pursue them in earnest. It took all of Qui-Gon’s training to maintain his composure as he herded everyone back onto the ship, and judging by the concerned look Obi-Wan gave him, he was not fully successful anyway. But Qui-Gon had no answers to give, not really. All he knew was that they needed to leave.

“Go help the mechanics, Padawan. I will see to it that the Skywalkers are settled.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan looked like he might argue, but then he pursed his lips and nodded, turning to follow the gravsled.

Qui-Gon sighed, closing his eyes for just a moment. Soon. Soon, they would be gone, off this planet. Opening his eyes, he turned and smiled at the two newest passengers.

“If you would come with me, we can find you some quarters.”

Soon, he reminded himself again, as they set off down the corridor, soon, they would be gone.

Despite that, Qui-Gon did not fully settle until they left the atmosphere.

And still, the unease and feeling of _wrong_ did not leave him. If anything, it got worse. And, in the moment before they went to lightspeed, Qui-Gon swore he felt the Force ring with something…someone’s, scream of rage.

 

* * *

 

That feeling followed Qui-Gon all the way from Tatooine. The closer they got to Coruscant, the stronger it grew.

Obi-Wan had noticed, Qui-Gon knew. He kept looking at Qui-Gon like he wanted to say something, but he never did. Instead, he just watched Qui-Gon, his face blank but for the tell-tail crease between his eyebrows.

Qui-Gon felt bad, he knew he was worrying his student, but he also knew he didn’t have the words to assuage those concerns. He couldn’t even fully explain to himself why he was so on edge. The presence, the rage, he had felt on Tatooine left him feeling itchy, like his skin was still covered in desert sand and something…oily and foul, and the sense of Wrong that had followed him since Ben’s last visit had only grown stronger. Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing the heel of his hand into his forehead.

“Credit for your thoughts?”

Looking away from the viewport, Qui-Gon turned to see Padme standing a few feet away. The young woman was back in her handmaiden garb, the orange silk brilliant against the stark walls of the ship. Qui-Gon offered her a tiny smile.

“I could ask you the same, your Highness.”

She frowned at him, and Qui-Gon laughed, turning back to the viewport and the growing shape of Coruscant before them. “Surely you didn’t think we wouldn’t notice?”

“Who else knows?” Padme asked, moving up to stand beside him.

“As far as I know, only Obi-Wan and myself. Your system is a good one, and your disguise is highly effective. We just have a…slight advantage.”

“Hm. I suppose I should have considered that,” Padme said. For a moment, she was silent, and even without actively reaching out, Qui-Gon could feel her thoughts spinning.

“I have…concerns,” Padme said at last. Qui-Gon turned and found her frowning up at him. She was very young, he realized abruptly. Not much older than Obi-Wan had been, when he had first become Qui-Gon’s apprentice. So young, to be carrying the weight of an entire planet on her shoulders. But still, Padme’s gaze was unwavering, and she held herself straight and strong.

“Concerns?”

She nodded. “The Senate is slow, Master Jedi. My planet does not have time for weeks on weeks of debating and consideration. We have no standing army, and the droids caught us totally unawares. They have cut off trade, we were already running out of food by the time you arrived. We need help, and we need it fast.”

Qui-Gon nodded. She was right, and her fears were far from unfounded. “Will you address the Senate yourself?”

Padme nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “I will. It is my responsibility.”

Around her, the waves of the Force swelled and spun, blurring as they came in contacts with one another. Qui-Gon frowned, and expression that did not go unnoticed.

“What is it?” Padme asked, leaning in, eyes bright.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Nothing solid. I’m afraid I have no answers for you, Highness.” At Padme’s expression, disappointment quickly and firmly crushed under a mask of professionalism, Qui-Gon reached out, squeezing her shoulder gently. “All will be well,” he said gently. “You are not alone in this fight, Padme. Trust in your allies, and trust in the Force.”

Padme sighed and dropped her eyes, but when she looked up again, there was a tiny smile on her lips. “You make it sound so easy, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Years of practice trying to convince myself of the same,” he said, smiling when that drew a laugh from the girl. Then he offered her his arm. “Now, Handmaiden, shall we find your Queen, and my Apprentice? We will be reaching the planet soon.”

Padme laughed, and took his arm. “Why thank you, Master Jedi. I believe we shall.”

 

* * *

 

Their arrival on Coruscant was a quiet affair, but still had more fanfare than Qui-Gon would have liked. A handful of guards, the senator of Naboo, and the Supreme Chancellor himself, awaited them on the landing platform.

As the boarding ramp lowered, the uncomfortable crawl over Qui-Gon’s skin spiked, sending a shudder down his spine. Obi-Wan shot his him a concerned glance.

_‘Master?’_

_‘Not now,’_ Qui-Gon murmured, with the tiniest shake of his head. His stomach roiled unpleasantly, and he did his best to put the feeling aside, until he could properly inspect it. Then on a whim, he turned to look at Anakin. The boy was glued tight to his mother’s side, eyes wide and he turned, looking around as if he was trying to take in everything before it vanished. His excited had been nearly palpable on the ship, but now that they were planet-side, he seemed a little overwhelmed.

“Alright, Ani?”

Anakin’s eyes snapped to Qui-Gon, and he nodded. “Yes, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Good. Don’t be afraid to tell Obi-Wan or me if you need anything, alright?” He looked up at Shmi. “For you as well.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “Thank you, Master Jinn.”

With another nod, Qui-Gon turned his focus forwards as they began to move, following the “Queen” and her entourage down the ramp and onto the platform.

As they reached the waiting figures, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed to the Supreme Chancellor, the others following suit behind them, before moving aside to allow the Queen and her entourage to approach.

The Naboo senator spoke first, and for some reason, Qui-Gon found himself resisting the urge to step back, put himself and the others further away from the man.

“It is a great gift to see you alive, your Majesty,” he said, his voice carefully smooth and a politician’s soft smile painted on his lips. “With the communications break-down, we’ve been very concerned. I’m anxious to hear your report on the situation.”

That, at least, felt true. Qui-Gon carefully kept his face neutral. Something about all this felt…wrong. But then, what hadn’t felt wrong, since this blasted mission began? He would have to meditate, later.

The senator was still speaking, and Qui-Gon made himself turn his focus back to the conversation as the other man turned, gesturing to the Chancellor. “May I present, Supreme Chancellor Valorum.”

Valorum, at least, did not feel like slick oil in the Force.

“Welcome, your Highness,” he said. “It’s an honour to finally meet you in person.”

Qui-Gon let his focus drift, as they continued to talk, taking in the non-political elements of their little group. Anakin still looked a little overwhelmed, but he was hiding it well, and had drifted away from his mother’s side to stand nearer to Padme, who offered him a reassuring smile. Obi-Wan had been right; she was fond of him, and they seemed to have grown close on the trip from Tatooine. Something about that made the Force whisper in Qui-Gon’s ears, but he could not quite understand what it was trying to say.

Anakin smiled back, but as the Queen and her party began to move, he hesitated, falling back to stand between Shmi and Obi-Wan. Her eyes not leaving the politicians, Shmi wrapped an arm around Anakin’s shoulders, holding him close.

She was on her guard, and had been since they landed, Qui-Gon noticed. She seemed to be acting on instinct alone, using the Force without conscious thought to scan her surroundings for threats, escape routes, shelter. The more time Qui-Gon spent in her presence, the more apparent her strength was becoming to him. She hid it well, her natural shielding was incredible, but she was strong. Had her situation been different, he suspected she would have been brought to the Temple.

He could not shake the thought that she would have been a fantastic Jedi.

As if sensing his thoughts, Shmi caught Qui-Gon’s gaze, and raised an eyebrow, questioning. Qui-Gon smiled, dipping his head the barest amount in response, before he turned his gaze back to the Queen and senators, who were already walking away down towards the waiting hovership, followed by the handmaids. But as Senator Palpatine led the Queen and her entourage away, the Chancellor slowed and fell back, lingering until the group was out of earshot, and Qui-Gon approached.

“Finis.”

The smile Qui-Gon received was small and tired.

“It is good to see you Qui-Gon. Tell me, how went the mission? Not too many unplanned difficulties, I hope?”

The voice in Qui-Gon’s head, the one that sounded like Ben, snorted. Qui-Gon glanced at Shmi and Anakin. “A few, but I think they might have been worth it.”

“Oh?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “I can’t tell you more, I’m afraid, old friend. I must speak with the Jedi Council immediately. Things have…changed.”

Valorum nodded. “Of course, I understand.” He patted Qui-Gon’s arm once. “Keep me updated, as much as you can? There is something stirring, and I don’t have to be a Jedi to feel it.”

“I will do my best.” Qui-Gon turned to gather up his charges, then glanced back at the Chancellor. “And Finis?”

“Yes?”

“Be…careful, around Senator Palpatine. I can’t explain it but something about him feels…wrong.”

 

* * *

 

“Agitated you are, Master Jinn. Why?”

Not for the first time, a headache was building behind Qui-Gon’s eyes. He was standing in the center of the High Council Chamber, with Obi-Wan at his right, and Anakin and Shmi on his left. Around them, the Council sat, all with expressions of distant interest or irritation.

Force, but he disliked standing here.

Yoda was still staring, with the same piercing expression he had worn since they had first walked in.

Qui-Gon sighed, years of experience with the ancient Master the only thing that kept him from hunching under Yoda’s gaze. Somehow, he always managed to make Qui-Gon feel like a dramatic youngling when he looked at him like that. “He must be trained.”

“Said so, you have. Why?”

Again and again, they were going in circles. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to grit his teeth. He was beginning to understand Dooku’s claims of the Order’s stagnation. How did anything get done, if all decisions took so damn long?!

“I believe Anakin is the Chosen One,” he said, carefully measuring each word as he said it. “And regardless, he is strong. He needs training.”

“The prophecy of the Chosen One is thousands of years old,” Mace said. “Why your sudden interest in it, Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon remembered the shadows in Ben’s eyes, and the growing, darkening stains under them. He remembered the scars, how there were always a few new ones. He remembered the icy fears at seeing Ben, bloody and broken and slumped in Obi-Wan’s arms. The echoed memories of his screams and of a woman’s cold laughter.

A war. A war in the future.

_“Anakin will find me.”_

Qui-Gon looked down at the boy still standing in front of him. Anakin was radiating nervousness, and Qui-Gon rested his hands on his shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. As the boy quickly glanced back at him with a tiny smile, Qui-Gon found himself desperately hoping that his theory was right; that this Anakin Skywalker was the father, or grand-father of Ben’s Anakin. Even if that meant he and Ben were separated by centuries, it would give them time, time they desperately needed. At the same time, the Force, ever a cruel mistress, shivered around him a way that made him think he would not be so lucky.

“Something is coming,” Qui-Gon said, raising his eyes to meet Mace’s gaze. “Obi-Wan has felt it too. Something is coming, and I fear it will be upon us sooner than we would hope. And I can’t shake the feeling,” he glanced down at Anakin again, who looked back with wide, trusting eyes that made his chest ache, “that Anakin will play an important role.”

“To the future, your thoughts rarely stray, Master Jinn. Brought about this change, what did?” Yoda asked.

Qui-Gon almost laughed. ‘You have no idea how often my thoughts stray forwards. But then, until recently, neither did I,’ he thought.

“I follow the whims of the Living Force, Master Yoda,” he said, pulling his shoulders back and drawing himself up to his full height. “But my Master and two of my Padawans have found their centers in the Unifying Force, and so I am no stranger to it. I have no skills in Future-sight, and what I sense is clouded, however, I do not doubt this. Something has changed, Masters, and if we do not change as well…” He hesitated, drawing in a slow breath, filling his lungs with filtered Temple air, “Then I fear for the future I cannot see.”

Silence rang in Council chamber. Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan’s stare burning into him, the young man’s shock uncharacteristically strong as it danced across the training bond. Qui-Gon did not turn away from the Council.

Finally, Mace sighed. He leaned forward, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his noise with a loud sigh. When he sat up again, there was something in his face that, despite the stony frown, made a weight on Qui-Gon’s chest ease somewhat.

“This Council has…much to discuss,” Mace said slowly, and the weight eased a little more. “You three may go. We will summon you when a decision has been made.”

Together, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed, and Qui-Gon squeezed Anakin’s shoulder, urging him to do the same. Shmi had already ducked her head without prompting, and the ease in the gesture turned something in Qui-Gon’s stomach. “Thank you, Masters.”

Then they were out, back in the cool and quiet of the corridor, and Qui-Gon found himself breathing easier.

“Did I do alright?” Anakin asked, his voice muted. He had regained his place pressed against Qui-Gon’s side as soon as the Council chamber doors had closed, and was radiating anxious tension.

Qui-Gon ruffled his hair and smiled. “You did everything right, Ani. Now we just have to wait.”

That did not seem to fully reassure Anakin, but he nodded and said nothing else. Qui-Gon exchanged a look with Obi-Wan. The Padawan frowned, and then moved to bracket Anakin’s other side.

“Ani, why don’t we find the rooms you and your mother were assigned? We can give you two a tour of the Temple.” He gave the boy a gentle smile, offering his hand. For a moment, Anakin only blinked at him. Then his eyes darted to Qui-Gon.

“It is your choice, Ani,” Qui-Gon said.

Anakin hesitated for another moment, before he nodded and took Obi-Wan’s offered hand. “Alright.”

“Wonderful!” Obi-Wan smiled brilliantly; putting on a show for Anakin, Qui-Gon realized. Being a slave would no doubt have taught Anakin a degree of emotional control, if only for the purposes of survival; but even for the most somber of offworlders, the Temple could be chilling, especially for those who could not touch the Force. Obi-Wan was offering Anakin an olive branch, using his own emotional displays to sooth Anakin’s no-doubt overwhelmed nerves. “Coming with us, Master?”

Qui-Gon shook his head, smiling mournfully. “I’m afraid this is where we must part company, at least for a little while. I have some things to take care of, and if the Queen has her way, we will be back on a ship this time tomorrow.”

He could see Obi-Wan trying not to pull a face, and could not help giving him a sympathetic smile in return.

“Have faith, Padawan. I am sure this mess will be sorted soon enough.”

He inclined his head to Shmi and Anakin in turn. “I will rejoin you for latemeal. If you should require my presence sooner, Obi-Wan can contact me.”

Anakin nodded, grinning at Obi-Wan, and Shmi returned Qui-Gon’s gesture. “Thank you, Qui-Gon. For everything.”

“It was my pleasure,” Qui-Gon said.  With a last smile at them, he turned, heading off down the hallway. Behind him, he could hear Anakin talking excitedly, and Obi-Wan answering his questions, their voices growing fainter as they too began to move.

As he rounded a corner that put him in the direction of the archives, Qui-Gon reached out, lowering the shields around an old pair bond.

_Tahl? Are you busy?_

 

* * *

Tahl was waiting for him when Qui-Gon reached the archives. She grinned at him as he drew near, pushing off the shelf she had been leaning against and closing the space between him to draw him into a hug.

_It’s about time you stopped by, Qui. I feel like I haven’t seen you in eons!_

Qui-Gon smiled, pressing a kiss into her hair. _It hasn’t been that long. Why aren’t we talking?_

 _Master Nu is on a rampage today._ Tahl replied, pulling back and rolling her eyes. _It is in our best interest to stay as quiet as possible._

 _You’re scared of her,_ Qui-Gon teased, and then grunted when Tahl smacked his stomach.

_You would be too, if you knew what was good for you._

_She likes me._

_Force knows why._

_I am very likable, thank you!_

Tahl’s pale eyes danced with silent laughter as she led Qui-Gon over to a terminal table. _Putting that debate aside for the time being; you said you needed help?_

Qui-Gon nodded, sitting down across from her and folding his hands together on top of the table. _I was wondering if you could help me track down someone in the Temple records._

Tahl’s eyebrows rose. _Probably. Who are we looking for?_

_Ben Lars._

The eyebrows rose higher.

 _As in,_ your _Ben Lars?_

Qui-Gon was a distinguished Jedi Master, he would not blush. _Yes._

_And…why are we looking him up in the records?_

_I couldn’t find him. I thought you might have a better chance._

Tahl pursed her lips. _Why do I get the feeling you aren’t telling me the whole story?_

 _I am pretty sure I don’t have it all yet either,_ Qui-Gon admitted.

After a minute, Tahl nodded. _Alright. I’ll see what I can do._

_Thank you._

As Tahl worked, Qui-Gon began some research of his own. The archives contained extensive research on the geographical layout of hundreds of planets, and specific research on thousands of different types of rock formations found across the galaxy, from kyber crystals to the musical _Queee-ha_ from Gacerian. Absently, Qui-Gon fingered Ben’s crystal. It was time to get some answers.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, and Qui-Gon was ready to pull out his hair, strand by strand. Surely, that would be more productive than this!!

Nothing. He could find nothing like Ben’s crystal, nothing that acted the way his seemed to. Qui-Gon growled, pushing back from the terminal in frustration. Across from him, Tahl raised her head.

“You sound like you’re having about as much luck as I am,” she said mildly.

Qui-Gon glared balefully at the screen. “I swear he likes making my life difficult. I think he does it on purpose,” he grumbled. He could feel Tahl’s flicker of concern, but she did not comment.

He loved her for that.

Heaving a sigh, Tahl pushed herself to her feet, stretching with a soft groan. “Well, I’m going to call it. We’re done for tonight.”

Qui-Gon’s protest must have registered in the Force before he got the words together, because Tahl narrowed her eyes at him. “For _both_ of us, Qui. Food, and sleep. That’s an order. Don’t make me call Micah, or your Padawan, to drag you out of here.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Traitor.”

Tahl only grinned, and reached out to haul him to his feet.

They found Micah coming down the hallway towards them. He grinned when he saw them. “You managed to get out on your own! I’m so proud!”

Tahl rolled her eyes, but laughed and leaned over to kiss her bondmate. “We were defeated, I’m afraid. What are you doing here, Mic?”

“I’ve been sent to pick you up.” Micah winked at Qui-Gon. “Your presence has been requested for late meal. Your Padawan was quite insistent. Something about forgetting to feed yourself if he doesn’t remind you.”

Tahl laughed, taking the arm Micah offered her, and Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, falling into step on Tahl’s other side.

“Obi-Wan seems to forget that I functioned just fine before he came along.”

“That’s debateable.”

“Oy!”

 

* * *

 

The call that the Council was reconvening came as late meal was winding down to a close. It had been a surprisingly pleasant meal, especially after everything that had happened since Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had first left for Naboo.

Tahl and Micah had taken to Shmi almost immediately. Garen, Micah’s newly knighted Padawan, had almost immediately fallen into an in-depth discussion of flying pods versus fighters with Anakin, that left Obi-Wan watching them warily, like he half expected them to race off right then and there to test their claims.

It was a good night, and the close proximity to so many of the people he cared about did wonders for Qui-Gon’s emotional state. The ever-present unease had even faded to a bare whisper at the back of his mind, as he and Tahl laughed over Micah’s squawks of outrage over a story of one of their many Padawan exploits.

Of course, the moment his comm started beeping, the headache had come rushing back with a vengeance.

And now, they were back in the chamber, and Qui-Gon was beginning to suspect his headache might have actually gained sentience, just to spite him.

“What do you mean, he won’t be trained?” he asked. It took all his control to keep his voice steady and calm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shmi squeeze Anakin’s shoulder, even as she never took her eyes from the Jedi before her.

“Too old, he is. Too many Attachments he has,” Yoda said, as unflappable and self-assured as ever. “Strong he is, yes, yes, but dangerous that is.”

Qui-Gon felt both Shmi and Obi-Wan bristle and had to center himself before he spoke. “So he won’t even be allowed into the crèche? It is because of his strength that he must be trained!”

Mace, Qui-Gon noticed, was suspiciously quiet for someone normally so outspoken against Qui-Gon’s “flights of fancy” and “wild schemes” and general maverick behavior. The Head of the Order had his eyes closed, and the tiniest frown of something that looked like pain.

Nevertheless:

“Did you hear nothing I said?!” Qui-Gon demanded, abruptly wishing Dooku were still on the Council. Everything Qui-Gon knew about arguing with the Council he had learned from his Master, and this felt important enough to warrant seeking his assistance. “Something is coming, and Anakin is in the center of it all! Can none of you feel it?! Leaving him untrained would be—”

“You will calm yourself, Master Jinn,” Master Poof said, and Qui-Gon only just managed to restrain himself from glaring daggers at the infuriating Master. His headache spiked as the Force began a new round of warning klaxons, and Obi-Wan shot him a concerned look that Qui-Gon ignored.

“He _needs_ to be trained!”

“Tradition there is. To ignore it—”

“Tradition be damn—”

“ENOUGH.”

All eyes flew to Mace. The Korun Master’s eyes were still squeezed shut, but his grimace was openly visible now, his fingers squeezed so tightly around the arms of his chair that his knuckles were nearly bloodless. For a moment, no one spoke. Mace swayed a little in his seat, as around him, the Force twisted sharply, and he grunted, dropping his head like he was about to be sick.

Depa Billiaba cursed under her breath, quickly rising from her chair and hurrying over to kneel in front of her former teacher. “Master, breathe. Try not to fight it, let it pass.”

Her Force-signature flickered, soft and soothing against the sharp edges of Mace’s, and—oh. Realization struck Qui-Gon; Mace had always been able to see and read shatterpoints in the Force, but Qui-Gon had never seen him so affected before.

Silence fell as the gathered Jedi waited, the only sound Mace’s ragged breathing and Depa’s quiet words. Finally, Mace sucked in a sharp breath, and the worst of the tension seemed to drain from him. Leaning back in his chair, he opened his eyes slowly, meeting the gaze of his former student. A moment passed between them, and then Depa nodded, rising to her feet. She squeezed Mace’s hand once and returned to her seat.

Mace turned his gaze on Qui-Gon then, and something in his eyes made the klaxons still wailing in Qui-Gon’s head quiet, just a little. His gaze moved then, from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan, where it lingered and something like sadness flickered, to Shmi, and then lastly to Anakin. For a moment, Mace just stared at the boy, and Anakin stared back, unflinching.

“Do you want to be a Jedi, Anakin Skywalker?” Mace asked abruptly.

Anakin nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

Anakin hesitated, glancing at his mother and then at Qui-Gon before looking back at Mace and answering. “I want to help people. That’s what Jedi do.”

Something about his answer made Mace relax, just a little more. “You realize it might not always be so simple, correct? That it is not an easy path? We Jedi are not gods, we are just as likely to fail as any other sentient. We cannot always save everyone.”

Anakin nodded again. “Yes, sir. I know, sir.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure you do, not yet. Nevertheless, you still want to be a Jedi?”

“I do.” Anakin raised his chin defiantly. “There’s no point in stopping something good, just because it’s not easy. You have to keep working hard at being good, so that it lasts. Mom taught me that.”

“Did she?” Mace looked at Shmi again, considering. “Well, your mother sounds like a wise woman.”

Anakin nodded. “She is.”

Shmi’s cheeks went a little pink, but Mace was already turning back to his fellow counsellors. “Qui-Gon is right. He must be trained.”

The ensuing uproar lasted only a moment, before Yoda was thudding his gimmer stick against the tiled floor, drawing the attention back to himself. He frowned at Mace. “Agree with him you do. Why?”

Mace look at Qui-Gon once again, and then back at Yoda. “Things are changing, Master. Things I do not fully understand. But I agree with Qui-Gon; Dark things draw near, a struggle approaches, and like it or not, Anakin Skywalker seems to be firmly at the center of it all. I do not wish to see the outcome, should he be left untrained and unprepared.”

Yoda glared at him for a long moment, and then sighed, his ears drooping. “Understand fully I do not. But good points, you both make. Sense this Darkness I do not, but,” he waved a clawed hand, “Trained he will be. To the crèche first, so learn the basics he can.”

The relief that rushed over Qui-Gon was so strong it nearly bowled him over. He bowed low. “Thank you, Master.”

“Hrmph,” Yoda waved his hand again. “Thank me just yet you should not. Finished yet we are not. Matter to discuss, there still are.”

He pointed to Shmi. As he did, Qui-Gon felt something flicker around the woman, as she pulled herself up straighter, tugging her shields more firmly around herself like a cloak. She didn’t flinch from the ancient Master’s gaze. Yoda hummed, and for a moment, Qui-Gon thought he felt a flicker of…approval?

“Strong, you are as well. Wise, your son calls you. Wish to be trained as well, do you?”

Shmi’s surprise was only present for a second, and Qui-Gon felt a spattering of interest and surprise from the gathered Masters as it vanished into the Force like it never was. Shmi’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m a former slave. I’m not Jedi material.”

Yoda’s ears rose in surprise. “Oh? An expert on what Jedi are, you are, hmm?”

“I will not have another Master.”

That was enough to silence the room completely. Shmi did not waver.

Finally, Mace sighed and bowed his head. “We understand. That said, you have the potential. If you would wish to receive training, I would be happy to be your teacher.”

Qui-Gon’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Now this was something he would never have expected. The other Council members seemed surprised by the offer as well.

Shmi considered Mace for a moment. “I would…like time, to consider your offer, Ser Windu. I have been a slave since I was twelve years old. I need time to learn who I am, now that I am free.”

It might have been Qui-Gon’s imagination, but for a moment he thought he saw Mace smile. The Head of the Order nodded, sitting back in his seat. “That is acceptable to me. If you wish it, we will have accommodations set up for you in the Temple, or else provide you with the necessary funds to start a life of your choosing.”

“I would…prefer to stay here, for the time being.”

Mace nodded. “As you wish, Lady Skywalker.”

The rest of the Council murmured their agreement, and Shmi seemed to relax. Qui-Gon relaxed as well. Anakin would be trained, Shmi would have her choice of future.

“Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon looked to Yoda, who was still giving him a vaguely disapproving look, not that any non-Jedi would be able to tell. It was all in the ears; anyone raised in the Temple would know it.

“Yes, Master?”

“To Naboo, Queen Amidala wishes to return.”

Qui-Gon blinked. Had the Senate proceedings already finished? He must have missed more during his immersion into the archives than he had realized.

“Further assistance from you, she has requested. Return with her, you and your Padawan will. Depart in the morning, you will,” Yoda continued, and Qui-Gon felt a shiver of unease run down his spine, its source as unknown as it had been since their initial arrival on Naboo the last time. He bowed.

“Of course, Master.”

Yoda nodded and waved a clawed hand. “Leave us now, you may. Much to discuss we have.”

Bowing again, Obi-Wan mirroring him, Qui-Gon murmured his thanks, and turned, quickly ushering the Skywalkers out of the Council Chamber ahead of him. He had achieved success; Anakin would be trained. Still, Qui-Gon was grateful to leave. He knew he ought to be happy, but for some reason, he could not shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

 

* * *

 

The return trip to Naboo was tense. They all felt it. Most of the time was spent in planning sessions with the Naboo, or training Shmi and Anakin, who had refused to be left behind. Oh, Qui-Gon had tried to argue, but between the twin stubborn expressions on Anakin and Shmi’s faces and the way the Force was still blaring at him, he had given in, reluctantly.

Qui-Gon barely saw hide or hair of his apprentice in that time. When he wasn’t with Qui-Gon in planning meetings, or spending time with Anakin, Obi-Wan would vanish, throwing himself into menial tasks or meditation attempts. When seated meditation seemed to lose its effectiveness, he had switched to active meditation, using the meager cargo bay to run through katas again and again, with and without his lightsaber.

It was after one of these sessions, a day before they reached Naboo, that Qui-Gon finally managed to corner him.

“Padawan, enough,” he said, as Obi-Wan clambered out of his sitting position, seemingly intent on starting the entire set of Ataru katas again. “It’s time to rest.”

When Obi-Wan stared at him, Qui-Gon sighed and pushed the mug of tea and rations bar he had brought with him into the young man’s hands. “Eat. Drink. Sit. You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this rate.”

Obi-Wan took the food without argument but pulled a face when he was told to sit. “I can’t help it, Master. Every time I try to stop…”

He trailed off, staring moodily down at his tea. Frowning, Qui-Gon sat down beside him. “It feels like the Force is yelling at you to keep moving.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him and nodded. Qui-Gon sighed. “I feel it too, Padawan.” He wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, hugging him for a moment. Something in the pit of his stomach felt cold. Something like dread.

“I feel it too.”

 

* * *

 

Things went…tentatively well. Qui-Gon almost managed to fully ignore the incessant shrieking in the back of his mind. The Gungans agreed to help them with little to no bribery or begging required, and they had a plan. Qui-Gon was actually beginning to think this might all work.

And then the battle started. And then the shrieking became full blown screaming. And then the Darkness that Qui-Gon had first felt on Tatooine swelled, violent and angry and hungry as the doors across the hanger bay had slid open to reveal…something.

The figure was dressed all in black, making the red of his skin stand out vividly. A Zabrak, though he looked nothing like most of the Zabrak Qui-Gon had met in his life. Certainly nothing like Master Koth. The Darkness swirled around him, thick as tar and virulent, trickling out around the room and making Qui-Gon’s skin itch. If that had not been enough to tell him just who they were about to face, then the red, double bladed lightstaff the Zabrak illuminated would have crushed any remaining doubts.

_Master, that’s a_ _—_

_I know, Obi-Wan._

A Sith. A Sith who had been following them since Tatooine, probably earlier. A Sith who, somehow, must be connected to this whole mess with the Trade Federation. It didn’t make sense, but also made the whole conflict much more dangerous.

Qui-Gon risked a glance over his shoulder at the Queen and her group. “Go. We’ll take care of him. Anakin.” The boy stared at him, eyes wide. He could feel the Darkness too, Qui-Gon realized. Of course, he could. “Stay here. Find somewhere to hide. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded. Good. Qui-Gon turned back to the Sith.

_Ready, Padawan?_

Obi-Wan answered without hesitation. _I am with you, Master._

Force and Small Gods, but Qui-Gon was proud of him.

He put that aside then, along with everything else but the moment at hand, sliding off his cloak in a single, fluid motion and pulling out his lightsaber. Beside him, Obi-Wan did the same.

For a moment, no one moved.

And then the fight began.

 

* * *

 

The Sith was good. Too good to have not been trained. He matched them, blow for blow, silent and unwavering. But he wasn’t pushing back.

‘He’s leading us,’ Qui-Gon realized. Instead of pushing the battle out into the open space of the hanger, the Zabrak was leading them deeper and deeper into the bowels of the city. They were on a system of catwalks now, surround vast energy reservoirs that glowed blindingly bright.

 _Obi-Wan, he’s_ _—_ Qui-Gon began, reaching out to his student, only to be cut off when Obi-Wan did not rise fast enough from a parry, and the Sith’s foot connected solidly with his face, knocking the young man backwards and off the platform with a grunt of pain. He fell, and it’s only the sickening thud he made, landing on the platform below that told Qui-Gon when he stopped.

_Padawan!_

Qui-Gon snapped forward, driving his elbow into the Sith’s stomach in a moment of vulnerability, taking his moment of shock to punch him, knocking him off as well. He landed on his back, not falling as far or for as long as Obi-Wan, hitting another stretch of catwalk, directly below.

 _Are you alright?!_ Qui-Gon demanded, sparing a precious moment to reach out to Obi-Wan in the Force.

_I’m fine! Don’t worry about me!_

Qui-Gon wanted to. He wanted to go his Padawan’s side, make sure he really was alright, but he couldn’t risk it. They were Jedi, they both understood their responsibilities. So instead, Qui-Gon jumped from the platform, landing just as the Sith was scrambling to his feet.

And so the dance began again; Qui-Gon struggling to land a solid blow, the Sith pulling him back, further and further into what Qui-Gon believed was a refinery of some sort. Behind him, he could sense Obi-Wan struggling to catch up, but Qui-Gon could not spare the time to wait for him. The Sith could not be allowed to escape!

Something unsettling prickled down the back of his neck.

‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

They reached a hallway, lined with red plasma shields. Behind him, he could hear Obi-Wan’s footsteps, pounding closer. Ahead, the shields cycled, opening just in time to allow the Sith to continue his chosen path, and for Qui-Gon to follow. Qui-Gon lashed out, the Sith danced away, and with a hiss the shields cycled again, an Qui-Gon found himself separated from his quarry by a wall of red. They had nearly reached the end of the hall, and he could feel Obi-Wan further back at the entrance. Extinguishing his blade, Qui-Gon watched the Sith test the shields before doing the same, and then sank into a meditative crouch, his eyes never leaving the Sith before him, who paced his section of the hall like a caged animal.

Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, closing his eyes in a mockery of meditation, trying to steady his breathing. He was tired, the sleepless nights and constantly being on guard for something he couldn’t identify beginning to catch up with him. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and his hair stuck irritatingly to his face and neck.

 _Master!_ Obi-Wan called.

_Are you alright, Obi-Wan?_

_I’m fine! But you can’t fight him alone! Wait for me, I’ll be there as soon as the shields are down!_

Before he could answer, Qui-Gon heard the telltale sounds of moving machinery. He knew Obi-Wan had heard it too, could hear the hum of his blade rejoin the mass of sound around them. Then, the shields cycled, and the way was free once more. Qui-Gon was on his feet in an instant, charging forwards to meet the Sith’s blade.

 _Master!_ Obi-Wan called, but Qui-Gon didn’t have the focus to spare answering him. They were in some sort of room now, with a large open pit in the center. The Sith’s eyes blazed as they fought, and for a moment, Qui-Gon thought he heard whispers of speech, not from him, but circling around him like some vile miasma. They corrupted the very Force around him, dark and cloying in Qui-Gon’s senses.

His distraction proved to be his downfall.

Before Qui-Gon realized his mistake, the Sith feinted, and then smacked the handle of his blade into Qui-Gon’s forehead. There was just enough time for a spark of pain and Qui-Gon for to curse his own idiocy, and then pain erupted from the middle of his chest. His lightsaber fell uselessly from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Distantly, he heard Obi-Wan scream.

The pain was overwhelming, disorienting. Qui-Gon had received lightsaber burns before, in spars and training mostly, but nothing like this. It _burned,_ heat and severed nerve endings and damaged muscle and flesh. He choked on a gasp, dropping to ground as the Sith pulled his blade away, teeth bared in vicious victory.

After that, he must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew was Obi-Wan’s frantic, grief-stricken voice and pain as he was moved.

“Master! Master!”

Qui-Gon gasped, struggling for breath, for speech.

“O-Obi-Wan.”

“No, no.” Obi-Wan was pleading, fingers scrabbling with the layers of Qui-Gon’s tunics as he tried to get his hands on the wounds, fingers already leaking Force energy into the air around him. Qui-Gon tried to swallow, tried to speak. It was too late. Obi-Wan shouldn’t waste his strength, the battle might not be over yet. But he couldn’t find the strength to form the words.

Above him, Obi-Wan’s face was beginning to blur. Qui-Gon frowned and tried to blink to clear the image, but found he didn’t have the strength. Absently, he noticed the crystal was beginning to grow warm again, between the layers of fabric that made up his tunics and cloak, much like it had that night on the ship. It was oddly soothing, even now.

Obi-Wan was crying. Qui-Gon could hear it, but the sound was far away, echoing in Qui-Gon’s ears. His body felt leaden, his eyelids too heavy. He should say something else, something more; something else to help ease his Padawan, but his lips weren’t moving.

 _I love you, Padawan,_ Qui-Gon thought, unsure if his thoughts were actually reaching Obi-Wan. _So proud of you. So proud._

 _Master, please!_ Obi-Wan begged, and Qui-Gon felt his eyelids droop. He was going into shock, a distant part of his mind supplied, he wasn’t going to last much―

_Qui-Gon! Please!_

Qui-Gon dragged his eyes back open, shock and confusion giving him the push needed. He looked up into familiar blue-grey eyes, and an ache started up in his chest that had nothing to do with the Sith.

_Ben?_

How had he not noticed Ben’s approach? Qui-Gon’s heart clenched. Why did he have to appear now? He did not want to cause his beloved Ben even more grief. But still…to have Ben with him here…now…

_Love. You’re here._

_Master?! Master it’s me!_

No…not Ben. Obi-Wan. Realization flooded Qui-Gon’s mind, staving off the shock for a few, precious moments. Obi-Wan. O.W.K. He could see it, plain as day in his mind’s eyes; that first letter, after that first night. A scratched out B.L. replaced by O.W.K. Ben had never mentioned it, and Qui-Gon had forgotten…it had been so long ago…

As if a switch had been thrown, memories came flooding back, suddenly all making sense; the shock and grief when Ben had first seen him, the blurry, pain-addled memory of a fight with a Sith. The ease with which he had bonded with Obi-Wan, so many years ago, the way something about his Padawan’s smile had always seemed so strangely familiar…

Obi-Wan. It had all been Obi-Wan.

“Master, please! Keep fighting! Help is on the way!” Obi-Wan begged, and the ache in Qui-Gon’s heart intensified at the grief in his words. In his eyes.

‘I put that there _,’_ he thought, distantly, remembering the way the shadows never quite left Ben’s eyes, nor the lines from his face. ‘I did this.’

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly too dry, his vision beginning to blur. He needed to speak.

“O-Obi-Wan…” The words were barely a whisper.

“I’m here Master!” Obi-Wan cried, squeezing the hand still on his cheek.

Qui-Gon struggled to smile, meeting those blue-grey eyes he had loved for so long, in so many different ways, trying to find a way to rid them of the grief that filled them. He knew where it would lead, and desperately wished he could change the future’s course.

“I’m…so…sorry.”

It was all he could manage. It was not enough. In a rush, his strength fled from him, and Qui-Gon’s hand slid from Obi-Wan’s cheek. Against his chest, the crystal had grown hot enough to burn.

Qui-Gon Jinn closed his eyes, and the darkness swelled up around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not at all sorry.


End file.
